


In Every Universe

by skeptique



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A Very Light Sprinkling of Smut, Biracial Harry Potter, Black Hermione Granger, Brief Mentions of Drowning (in a dream), Canon Content Warnings Apply, Depiction of Anxiety Attacks, Dubious Consent, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Implied Drug Use, M/M, Minor Character Death, Moral and Ethical Quandaries Abound, More Detailed Warning in End Notes, Multiverse, Mystery, Parallel Universe, Post-Hogwarts, Post-War, Several Dracos Malfoy, Smoking, alcohol use, depiction of mental health issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:01:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 27,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27234658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skeptique/pseuds/skeptique
Summary: They sent Professor Harry Potter to search for Unspeakable Draco Malfoy. Draco has stolen a Firebird, an experimental magical device from the Department of Mysteries that lets you enter parallel universes as yourself. As Harry traverses from universe to universe, he begins to think Draco might be the one searching for him.A story about whether knowing what's possible makes it possible.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 74
Kudos: 208





	1. i. across every ocean

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文-普通话 國語 available: [【授翻】于每一个宇宙（In Every Universe）](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29573796) by [Bluebubbling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluebubbling/pseuds/Bluebubbling)



> This is inspired by Claudia Gray’s Firebird series which I’ve remixed to fit the HP world. Also, to solve the fact I do not have the inclination to deal with some of the ethical quandaries. Because of the mechanics of the travel, there is a dubious consent element. A more detailed warning about it is available in the end notes although it vaguely spoils some plot points. 
> 
> Thank you to my betas: Crimsonheadache, who gave this direction and dealt with my use of rogue commas. And especially ladyemmaline, who enthusiastically engages me at great length every week about fictional characters and fixing their feelings. A thank you to Ericacea, for being supportive, chatting about writing and reading the Firebird series with me. 
> 
> To put it quite succinctly: a sincere and thorough middle finger to JKR and all she's chosen to stand for.

“It’s a minor test,” Hermione said.

Hermione’s sense of minor was utterly out of keeping with the common usage. Being an Unspeakable had exacerbated that tendency.

“Minor like the last time was minor?” Harry said.

“I didn’t know visualizing your magic would make you shed glitter, Harry,” Hermione said.

“For 48 hours,” Harry added. “I walked around Hogwarts looking like fucking Liberace for 48 hours.”

“We’re talking about parallel universes. Don’t you want to know if you could travel to one?” Hermione asked. Her eyes shone brightly. Even in the swirling black robes of an Unspeakable, she looked great, brown skin shimmering in the dank atmosphere of the Ministry. She seemed at home here, surrounded by books and experiments.

“No,” Harry said honestly. He was not especially given to wonder. He was a twenty-eight year old Hogwarts professor. The time for adventure had passed him by, and that was a wonderful thing a decade down the line from everything he’d gone through.

“You’re not at all curious about what other lives you could have led?” Hermione asked.

There had been a time Harry had been obsessed with nothing but other lives he could live. But to settle into this one, he had given up other possibilities.

“No, I like this one. Where Voldemort is dead and my life is boring and all my friends are alive and well.” She winced at his crassness.

“Well, you couldn’t travel to possibilities where you don’t exist,” she pointed out.

“Hermione...” Harry began.

But two decades of friendship had taught Hermione how to bargain with him.

“Get tested for me. And I’ll make you sticky buns,” Hermione said.

“Two dozen of the special kind with pistachios,” Harry said. She only made them around the holidays and it would annoy Ron, but they could sort that out themselves. Ron was in Ibiza on an Auror mission right now, anyway. He didn’t have to know.

Hermione agreed. Harry could manage a pain-free test that required him to get a finger prick and wait five minutes. Hermione fussed with a smoking cauldron and dropped his blood in there. The memory of the last time someone did that was uncomfortable for a moment, bright in his mind. Harry rolled the beads on his wrist to remind himself he was here and not there.

“You’re a perfect traveller,” Hermione said in awe as her undulating potion turned a shiny gold.

“Again with the glitter. I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?” Harry responded evenly. Being special reared its head once again.

“It’s rare, is all. We’ve tested the entire building, including the Minister, and there’s only three.”

“What does that mean?”

“Anyone could travel to parallel universes, right? But most people have a limit. More than a few hours and you begin to forget yourself. If you stay too long, you become who you are pretending to be.”

“Why would you pretend to be your other self?”

“Current studies for what happens if you get murdered in another body are inconclusive,” Hermione said. Her face was carefully blank.

“Nothing good, I’d expect. So everyone else can get stuck and perfect travellers don’t?”

“Precisely,” Hermione said. She smiled the way he did when faced with first years who needed encouragement to grasp basic wandwork. Harry rolled his eyes.

“I have to get back to my third years,” Harry said.

“Thank you! See you next week for dinner with Neville,” Hermione said.

“Don’t forget my sticky buns. Rose glaze,” Harry reminded her.

Harry returned to Hogwarts and forgot about the test in a few short days. Midterms were upcoming and some of his students in the seventh year seminar were already worried about their NEWTs in the spring. In his fifth year of teaching, he finally felt he grasped the rhythms of the school year.

Harry was also trying to figure out how to rally his Quidditch team. Gryffindor seemed to have given up on winning a single match all year. They tried, and they tried hard, but they didn’t work well together. He found himself in the November rain setting them drills so they might bond over how hard they worked. Instead, they seemed more and more defeated.

“Sorry the team isn’t any good when you spend all this time with us, Professor,” Aman Clef said, shuffling his feet. He had dropped the Quaffle a half dozen times during passing drills, including, memorably, directly on Harry’s head from twenty feet up. His temple still throbbed a little.

The team circled him on the ground of the pitch, soaked in sweat and the unrelenting cold fine mist that Hogwarts usually had in the autumn.

“Yeah, sorry,” the Captain chimed in. Mud streaked her from head to toe, and it took him a minute to figure out which of the Slate triplets he was looking at, although only Cadence was on his team. Sometimes they liked to switch.

“What do you think makes me happy?” Harry asked them.

“Winning,” their Beater said. The team laughed for the first time all practice.

“No, I am happy when you try. No matter the result. Ground drills, and then we’re done for the day.”

The team all groaned even the Captain who liked being on the team to burn off excess energy. But they did the floor-work with the determination to do it right and get out of there. Out of a sense of fairness, Harry got down in the mud and crawled along with them. He could use the exercise.

“Good job team. See you Saturday.”

Some of them smirked at the grass and mud stains on his front, but it seemed to cheer them.

They still lost on Saturday, but from then on asked him to fly and join them for all the drills. Sometimes they would laugh at him as he struggled through the harder bits; after all, he wasn’t thirteen anymore. Gryffindor played well enough and took a reasonable second in the House Quidditch rankings for the year. All his students passed. Most of the seventh years got an O or E on their NEWTs.

It was a good year, he thought.

Harry did not understand why Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt summoned him to the Ministry from his summer cottage a few days after term, but he was certain he wouldn’t like it. It wasn’t for social reasons, as the Aurors who flanked his door proved.

“Hilltowne, Pellack.” Harry nodded. They nodded back.

It surprised him, however, to see Hermione sitting with Kingsley.

“Harry,” Kingsley greeted warmly.

“Hi Hermione. Hello Minister,” Harry said. If he smiled a little, it was because he knew what was next.

“We’ve been over this. It’s Kingsley to you, Harry,” Kingsley said, pointing his quill at him.

“It was easier to remember when you were Head Auror,” Harry said.

“Perhaps if you had agreed to become Head Auror as I asked, government would be less confusing to you,” Kingsley shot back.

“We both know I’m not coming back, Kingsley,” Harry said with a bit of a smile.

Kingsley had encouraged him to take the posting and they had spoken about it at length, but Kingsley had made it known at every turn he was very sorry to have lost Harry.

“Ah, Hogwarts. The hours are long, but at least the pay is a pittance,” Kingsley teased.

Hermione cleared her throat, and they both sat up.

“Harry, you’re here because we have a mission for you. Draco Malfoy stole an item from the Ministry and we need someone to track him down,” Hermione explained. Harry felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Not because of Draco Malfoy. He barely knew him anymore, and Hermione was the one who worked with him directly. They saw each other when Harry was an Auror in Ministry hallways and greeted each other politely. In the last year, he might have seen Draco once, perhaps at a Ministry fundraiser for St Mungo’s or his orphanage or one of the dozen causes Harry gave money to since he had too much of it.

“Why?” Harry asked, dreading her answer.

“We don’t know,” Kingsley said. Admitting that seemed to weigh on him.

“No, not why Malfoy escaped. I expect if you knew, you’d find him. Why are you asking me?”

“Harry, you’re the only person who could go after him and search,” Hermione pleaded.

“But what do you mean? Where did he go?” Harry insisted. Hermione hesitated.

“Harry isn’t likely to agree without details. Go ahead, Hermione,” Kingsley said.

“The item he took is called a Firebird. It’s an experimental magical device that allows you to jump to alternate universes. When we tested you last year, we had made several prototypes for study. He's taken one. We need someone to look for him,” Hermione said.

“Isn’t there someone else?” Harry asked. He already knew the answer by the slope of her brow and the unhappy tilt of Hermione’s mouth.

“There isn’t anyone else since Theo disappeared,” Hermione said.

Harry almost couldn’t meet her eyes. She hadn’t talked about it like most of her work, but she had taken Theodore Nott’s loss hard a few months back. The rumour had been that he had vanished into thin air, but no one outside of Mysteries knew for certain.

“I would do it myself, but I can’t sustain enough jumps to do a thorough search since Malfoy is a perfect traveller,” Hermione said. It must not be possible if she admitted that much. But the question still rankled.

“I’m not an Auror anymore,” Harry reminded both of them. He had wanted to see the back of missions forever.

“It’s not a mission I’d give an Auror,” Kingsley said.

“That’s not the point. You can’t just call me up at any time to do shit for you. I don’t work here anymore. You promised me I would be done and walk away from this. I don’t have missions or duty or service. I don't owe anyone anything.”

Harry’s voice was a little more unsteady, a little more shrill than he’d like. His heart started hammering so hard, he could practically hear it in the hushed silence of the room. He could feel it. Both of them said nothing.

“Who cares where he goes? Let him run. Merlin knows he’s probably looking for his dead parents,” Harry said emphatically.

“If we don’t know where Malfoy is, he could collapse this universe and kill us all,” Kingsley said.

“I don’t think we would notice if that happened,” Harry said.

“He could destabilize the magic in several worlds until there’s no magic and we all die a painful death as the structure of reality collapses,” Kingsley said, deadpan.

“Does that sound like something he would do these days?” Harry asked Hermione incredulously.

The Draco he'd seen around the Ministry was quiet and kept to himself. He ate in the Ministry canteen. No one ate in the canteen. Harry hardly saw him in Wizarding London except for work and formal events. He gave off the same unsettling aura as the other Unspeakables, but even Harry didn’t think he’d been biding his time to do something nefarious. He was probably still a right bastard, but Harry had looked evil in the face plenty enough to know the difference.

“Personally, I don’t think that’s the case at all. Reports say that he had been struggling in his personal life, but he kept to himself at work. This seems like it had more to do with him than the work,” Kingsley admitted.

“The Firebird he took is an earlier prototype. It isn’t stable. He could seriously hurt himself or get killed by accident. And even unintentional damage could have severe consequences,” Hermione said.

Harry hated it when people made sense. And doubly so when that meant the Minister for Magic was asking him for favours. He couldn’t care less about the devices, but he still had a hard time knowing anyone was in danger. That was why he had left the Auror Department. Someone was always in need of rescue and it weighed on him, whether or not it was his case.

“I have to be back at Hogwarts by August 15. Properly back. I don’t care what kind of wobbly time bullshit goes on,” Harry conceded.

Hermione was good enough to hide her secret triumph.

“The time is almost equivalent, give or take a few milliseconds. No matter how many times you jump, you would have three months,” Hermione said. “Tomorrow come in for a test run, then you can start.”

“If I thought there was any other way, I would never have called you Harry. I hope you know that,” Kingsley said as Harry left.

Harry felt as though he would soon regret this immensely.

The next morning didn’t reassure him in the slightest. He drank half a coffee, stared into space, and realized he was running late. He had apparently forgotten his Floo fee because the network shut his Floo with an extremely pissy note that said his account was in arrears once again. He sprinted to the Apparition point and Hermione said nothing about him arriving twenty-two minutes late and out of breath.

“It’s a test run,” Hermione promised. “We jump in, we jump out.”

“It’s random?” Harry said.

“Not exactly. There are patterns to how you jump. It’s a shorter jump to universes that are like ours, and a longer one to universes that aren’t. If we cast for a close, it’s more likely to be one that seems somewhat familiar.”

“What happens to the Harry and Hermione whose life we take over?” Harry said.

“They exist in a liminal space outside of time,” Hermione said.

“In plain English, Hermione,” Harry said.

“They go to an in-between place. We can’t study it because no one remembers being there. Like a dream,” Hermione said. Harry frowned slightly.

"They don't remember anything?"

"Not really," Hermione said.

“Sounds ethically dubious to do that to someone.”

“It is,” Hermione admitted. “Put the Firebird around your neck. Then take its left wing and turn once clockwise. We find each other as quick as we can.”

They landed in the middle of a nightclub with throbbing bass and strobe lights. Harry looked down at himself. He was on the slender side here, wearing what appeared to be a leather vest, small tight black shorts....or underpants, with sandals and glitter everywhere. He was dancing hip to hip with a strange brunette man who licked a stripe up Harry’s neck.

In thirty seconds, this Harry had seen more action than Harry had in the last five years.

“I have to go find my friend!” Harry shouted over the music. The man he was dancing with shrugged and danced off in another direction. The thick press of people’s bodies against his was sweaty and hot.

He went to the bar, and there was Hermione. Her hair was loose here, and she wore a lacy bra and shorts that made Harry blush. She had taken a similar approach to glitter smeared liberally all over her face, cleavage and shoulders.

“Don’t look suspicious,” Hermione murmured, swaying to the music.

“This is supposed to be a close universe?” Harry asked, watching one patron snort a white line off the bar. Neither the bartender nor the other patrons paid them any mind. He wasn’t a Hitwizard or anything, but he thought people should at least be discreet about their drug use.

“Believe me, enjoying nightclubs is the least of our potential problems,” Hermione said. “You should see what I’ve seen myself get up to.”

As if that phrase summoned him, he spotted Draco across the room. His hair was tied back in a bun and he had opted for no shirt at all and a green tartan kilt which somehow made him look more naked than if he had gone starkers.

Hermione looked down at her Firebird.

“It’s not red. That’s not our Draco,” Hermione said.

“What do I do then?” Harry asked. Draco had spotted them and was coming over. Harry was uncertain he had ever seen that expression. It was a warm, engaging smile, notably absent of any mocking or glee over his misfortune.

“You’ll get some cues. There’s a sort of sense-memory held in the body. If not, pretend,” Hermione said quickly.

“Hi,” Draco said. The quality of his voice was slower, less polished. Harry thought he might’ve been able to tell that this was not his Draco. His Draco? What a phrase.

“Hi,” Harry said back, matching his smile. In this universe they must have some sort of friendship.

Then Draco reached out and tucked a curl of hair behind Harry’s ear, brushing his cheek softly. Harry was so taken aback he let it happen. The haziness he felt in this body—which he realized might be party drugs—responded to this. With a bit of embarrassment, he realized he could feel the edge of a deep affection. Not friendship. Even Luna didn’t touch Harry like that. No one did.

“Do you want to get out of here?” Draco asked him. “Come if you’re up for it, Hermione. Last time was fun.”

Harry thought he finally understood what the word lascivious meant by the way Draco looked at Hermione like she was something to eat and he was starving. She smiled, but Harry could see the panic in her eyes.

“Hold that thought and we’ll be right back!” Hermione grabbed Harry’s hand and walked them to the hallway where the loos were.

There was a universe where apparently he had threesomes with Draco and Hermione. He was uncertain what to make of that. Hermione wrinkled her nose. Neither did she from the way she avoided his gaze.

“Turn counterclockwise,” Hermione said. They both pulled the wing back to centre and stumbled back into their bodies at the Ministry.

“I think he liked you,” Hermione said.

“He would have liked you all night long,” Harry said. They both burst into giggles.

Hermione tossed him her Firebird.

“A spare in case you break yours or he’s broken his. Remember, none of those other worlds are yours,” Hermione said.

“That’s it?” Harry said. Hermione waved a hand dismissively.

“You learn by doing, don’t you?” Hermione said. Right, so she was going to send him into the multiverse with nothing but a magical device and a set of vague instructions. She smirked a little. Harry thought she would have a textbook or manual or something.

“Are there any rules?” Harry said, tapping his finger on the desk.

“You know the standard Time Turner rules, and I already told you not to get killed,” Hermione said. Sometimes Harry hated the wry sense of humour she’d developed coping with her job. He raised an eyebrow. She grabbed her Firebird back.

“Okay. Rotate in one direction, then back.” Hermione demonstrated without touching the Firebird. Her fingers ghosted over the device lightly.

“Wait in each world until it cools down and use it when you're alone. Most people can't perceive the Firebird, but if you draw attention to it someone will get suspicious. Do not take it off,” Hermione said.

“And what then? I run around trying to locate him by blind luck?” Harry asked. Did she seriously not have some protocol?

“The magic will guide you. It has a proximity charm for Draco’s and will lead you where he’s been. He has calibrated his to go to particular places. Just follow and you’ll catch up,” Hermione explained patiently.

“So can I go home while this is going on?” He knew the answer before he asked. A minimally warded Muggle summer cottage in the Outer Hebrides was probably a no-go.

“I’m sorry Harry but it won’t be safe. If you go to Grimmauld, I’ve secured it to contain the magical activity.”

“You didn’t know I would say yes,” Harry said. Hermione, politely, did not say that they both knew he would do it regardless of the test run.

“I’ll take care of your cottage,” Hermione said. “Everyone will think you’re in the Arctic backwoods hiking for the summer.”

“I’d rather do that than this,” Harry grumbled.


	2. ii. in mountains and valleys

It took Harry less than a day to shut up the cottage properly. He wasn’t there most of the year, anyway. It was a matter of gathering a few clothes, shutting the Floo, changing the wards again, and taking everything Wizarding out. The cottage was remote, and from the outside looked like nothing more than a stonewashed hut, but he never knew if someone might stumble upon it by accident. 

Inside, at least, the cottage was cozy. It wasn’t until Ron pointed it out during his last visit that he realized it kind of looked like the Gryffindor common room with overstuffed sofas, macrame hangings and plush red carpeting. Oh well. 

The fruit trees he wanted to plant would wait another year. All the gardening he needed to do he asked Neville to check in on. 

“I’m just glad you’re taking some time away,” Neville said. Harry laughed to himself later. It wasn’t going to be much of a vacation. 

He apparated a few minutes walking from Grimmauld. He expected it to have changed. Aside from a thick layer of dust that made him sneeze, it was much the same. He had cleaned it out after the War so at least there were no troll leg umbrella stands and delicate serpent fixtures, no mounted elf heads or screeching portraits of his godfather’s mother (while the Elder Wand probably should not have been used for her removal, it was remarkably effective where several Cursebreakers had not been). 

But otherwise, it was still musty, with outdated dark panelled wood, peeling navy blue Rococo wallpaper and elaborate wrought iron sconces. At least the ceilings were high, otherwise, all that darkness would feel like he was drowning. It was late enough in the evening that Harry decided he would start after breakfast. He slept fitfully, but when he awoke, couldn’t recall a single dream.

On the kitchen table, Hermione had left a note wishing him luck. He activated the security protocol she set up with his wand as instructed. He stowed his wand in a locking drawer and checked his Floo was still closed.

He supposed it didn’t matter what he wore, but he still opted for a black t-shirt and black joggers and sat in the kitchen for a few moments, before taking out the Firebird and looking at it. 

The Firebird reminded him of a paper crane made of steel. It was a beautiful contraption, and if he looked closely, he could see the morning light playing on it. At its heart was a bright white glow, like the centre of a flame. It looked like some sort of mechanical art piece from the Louvre more than a practical device. It dimmed somewhat while he held it, and he looped the chain around his neck. 

Then, when he had waited long enough, he took a deep bracing breath and turned the longer wing clockwise once. 

This time the jolt was immediate because he saw Draco right away. Face to face. They were in an old-fashioned setting in a ballroom. Harry could see dozens of tails, cravats and gem coloured ball gowns. And Harry was glad his muscle memory was apparently engaged because Draco was leading them in some dance?

“Thank you,” Draco said into Harry’s ear. His breath on his ear tickled. Harry peered at his own chest. No colours. Still hot to the touch. He would have to say something before he leapt out of this universe. 

“What are you thanking me for?” Harry asked without thinking. Draco looked at him oddly. 

“That you’ve continued to show your favour, Potter, when my family is disgraced. I won’t forget it,” Draco said. There was a quiet intensity there that belied the fact Harry must be doing something momentous. 

“Of course, Malfoy,” Harry said, attempting to match what he thought this Harry Potter would say. Maybe he should have done the Acting Society at school instead of Quidditch. Circe knew he was no good at pretending to be himself. 

It was Draco who released him when the music stopped while Harry held on a few seconds too long. Harry looked around. No wands. No technology. Nothing but an upbeat string quartet, happy couples doing some kind of country jig and beautiful gowns as far as the eye could see. Was that Hermione in the far corner? 

“Are you feeling well? The Browns always pack too many people in,” Draco said, his brows knit together with worry. Draco placed a hand on his arm. 

Harry looked down and he was dressed in shiny black boots and a deep crimson waistcoat with shiny gold military buttons. His clothes seemed well made but Draco dressed much more simply in an array of greys. 

“I feel strange,” Harry admitted. 

Draco gripped his shoulder lightly and steered them towards a balcony on the edge of the ballroom. People shrank away from Draco as they walked while offering Harry passing greetings. 

He knew them all. Tried not to stare as Pansy Parkinson swept past in a dramatic black gown and Adrian Pucey after her. He received a small smile from Luna Lovegood, whose silvery grey gown was laden with tassels and bells too, if the faint tinkling was any sign. 

“Malfoy. General Potter,” That was definitely Neville Longbottom. While he wasn’t sure about his mutton chops, there was a more pressing issue. How did Harry address him?

“How good to see you,” Harry opted for instead.

Neville’s face had hardened when he saw Draco, but whatever the issue was, he was polite enough to give him a quick nod. Malfoy’s expression was carefully neutral. Whatever emotion he had shown Harry was strictly under control, subsumed by that blankness. 

“I have some questions about the irrigation systems you’ve employed in the southern fields if you’ve got a moment.” 

“Sorry, but I need some air—” Here Harry gestured. 

“Terribly sorry,” Draco added when Neville looked at him, although he sounded nothing of the sort. 

“Of course. We’ll speak later. ”

Neville stepped away. 

“Always like that with the war heroes. He’s seen so much,” a whisper came from behind. 

“Will he ever marry? He could have anyone he wanted.”

_“_ One would think he wouldn’t favour the son of a traitor so openly. They ought to ask Malfoy about Nott’s disappearance.” An answering whisper. 

_That_ he didn’t want any part of in this world or the next, so he barrelled forward, with Draco behind him. 

“Half of them still think I’m spying for the French,” Malfoy chuckled as they entered the balcony. “The French paid better than our own country, to be perfectly honest. If I’d known that’s all I’d be accused of for the next decade, I might have been tempted.”

The balcony overlooked a small pond. There was a wry smile playing around Draco’s lips as they faced each other, leaning on opposite bannisters.

“You’ve done the right thing and still they treat you poorly. It’s not fair,” Harry said, indignant. He almost forgot he was playing a part. 

“You and your obsession with fairness. Because of my father, I’ll forever be a traitor’s son, no matter how many medals they send. It’s only because King William deigned to give me the title instead of stripping it from my father that I’m even allowed in polite company,” Draco said carefully. “I try to remember how many of them lost family in the War.”

“It’s still not right,” Harry insisted. 

“Not everyone is you, Harry,” Draco said. Curious that he switched to his first name. That felt intimate but correct. 

It was cool for May, but the heat generated by the crowd made the air steamy. Harry stuck a finger under his cravat. 

“It’s so fucking hot in there,” Harry complained. Belatedly, he realized that generals probably didn’t swear and if they did it probably wasn’t in front of disgraced men they had a questionable acquaintance with. 

“Your valet won’t thank you for that,” Draco said. Draco reached out and straightened his cravat. A tingle passed through him. 

“Can you keep talking?” Harry said. His heart was still racing a little and he couldn’t name why. It was disconcerting to have the physical symptoms of an anxiety attack without the thoughts that usually underpinned them. 

"All my stories are about terrible things," Draco said. 

"Tell me anyway." Harry needed a distraction. 

"Alright. Have I ever told you how I got recruited to the cause?”

Harry shook his head.

“I went on my Grand Tour with Blaise Zabini. We started in Italy since one of us spoke the language and we both wanted to get far enough away that no one could report back. We were sixteen. Father wouldn’t have minded the drinking and gambling halls, but he didn’t like the political salons. Too many radicals, actors, practicing out-of-wedlock homosexuals...” Here Draco winked. 

“In the middle of enjoying the sights, we met a wealthy Italian merchant and his wife who persuaded us to follow them to their villa for a week. You know how the old country houses are in the summer with people traipsing in and out. Opera singers, minor royalty, other merchants. One night they introduced us to a nice chap named Benedicto. Our age, but very sheltered. Have you ever heard of a fucking Italian over the age of twelve that wasn’t allowed wine at dinner?”

Draco didn’t wait for Harry to answer. 

“All the friends he brought were older and strangely protective. Blaise kept saying there was something awfully familiar about them, but honestly, if a count’s son wants to bring a harem to a Sardinian villa, how is that our problem? But turns out while he’s technically a count’s son...”

Harry almost forgot to panic, he was so focused on Draco’s story. 

“What was he then?”

“The next Emperor Mage of Russia. It explained how horrific their Italian was. Even mine wasn’t as bad. He was fleeing assassins from his younger brother, trying to get himself ahead in the line of succession. Nasty business.”

Had he ever heard Draco tell a story before? Was he always this unfocused or was this courtesy of this world?

“Wait, how did that end with you as a spy?” Harry said, confused. 

“Oh. That’s the boring part. Blaise and I eavesdropped, figured out the merchant was selling information to the brother, set a trap and caught them red-handed with poison. Suitably dramatic. I’m told there’s a hideous gold statue of Zabini and myself in Chita. The British ambassador Dumbledore was in residence and was impressed. We met and then I became entirely your creature, General.” 

“Your storytelling skills could use some work,” Harry said. He could see how someone like Malfoy talked himself into and out of trouble.

“And yet, you always ask me to tell them,” Draco said. “Feel better?”

Harry nodded yes. Draco straightened up. “I expect you'll want to spend a few minutes alone.”

This Draco was adept at reading Harry's expressions. He could detect his fading distress. He knew what he had needed. Harry wasn’t sure he liked that. 

This was not his universe. This affable, smiling Draco was not the one he was searching for. 

“If you don’t mind,” Harry said. His necklace had cooled completely against his skin. 

Draco nodded. 

“After the War, sometimes I found I couldn't breathe either,” Draco said. The music was loud for a brief second, then quieter again as the balcony doors closed. Harry fumbled with the Firebird as his hands shook. 


	3. iii. from the desert sands

Back at Grimmauld, it was quiet. Too quiet. Despite the disquieting silence, Harry almost didn’t want to leave again. One universe was enough for one day. He could contact Hermione and tell her he couldn’t handle this after all. He could spend the rest of his summer hiking, and out of London. 

He knew he would go back before he finished the thought. Harry hadn’t felt anything like this rush of adrenaline and reliance on his instincts for a while. It almost reminded him of the good parts of being an Auror.

Harry didn't want to linger where he could make a mistake, though. 

Instead, he went to his cupboards and found a ready-made meal. Tibs, veg and potato. Hermione had taken care of that. Of course she had. The house must not have let her tidy up if it was still this dusty, though. 

He blew his nose after eating and phlegm streaked the tissues with grey. He didn’t know whether that was from commuting into London after he’d been away or his home, so he cast a few hurried cleaning spells to take care of the worst of the filth. 

When he took the Firebird in hand again, it was with determination. One more for today. He didn’t want to search in any far universes at the moment. That had been too unfamiliar. Too much. The proximity charm meant Malfoy had been there at some point, but he couldn’t have stayed long.

Or maybe a universe of generals and spies and muggle wars with France was up his alley. No matter, Harry didn’t want to be there.

Counterclockwise one notch. 

This time the first sensation Harry became aware of was overwhelming heat. He was sweating lightly as if even his own body recognized giving up too much water in this environment would be foolhardy. There was a crisp blue sky as far as he could see and endlessly blowing beige sand. 

He wore long khakis and a long shirt with an obvious holster for his wand. Thank fucking Merlin. He didn’t think he could cope again without magic and in a strange place. Also, he was certain he had cast a cooling charm inside his clothes. 

Harry looked at his hand, a shade of deep brown he had never seen on himself. After a summer playing Quidditch and hiking, his heritage was always more obvious to other people, but this was more than a few afternoons in the English sun. 

And it was in the middle of this thought he stumbled. He pushed his hand into the hot sand, discovering unpleasantly that it was hotter the deeper he went. It was a gradual burn. He pulled his hand out quickly. Someone reached out and hauled Harry to his feet hard.

The hand belonged to Draco Malfoy. He was outfitted much like Harry, in the same khaki pants, long sleeve shirt and Tilly hat with a flap to cover the back of his neck. All of his clothing looked tailored though, while Harry’s outfit was slightly oversized, billowing out when he turned. Draco’s cooling charms must not be working as well, because there was a large dark patch in the middle of his back. 

“For fuck’s sake, at this rate we’ll never reach the Pyramid before dusk. Move it!” 

The Firebird was still warm, but no colours. 

“We’ll get there when we get there,” Harry said. 

“Bill won’t be pleased and we’re already behind schedule,” Draco said. 

Bill...Weasley? Well, that made slightly more sense as to why Harry had apparently picked the surface of the sun to inhabit. He couldn’t say he’d never considered Cursebreaking, but in the same way he’d considered being a Quidditch star: as an idle fantasy right after the War. 

He didn’t know if this was a universe that had a war at all, even if it was a close one. 

“Bill won’t care,” Harry said. He had no idea whether this was true. 

Draco was immediately incandescent and turned around and stopped to look at Harry. His jaw clenched and his posture straightened even further like he meant to make the most of the few inches he had on Harry. 

“You can find a Cursebreaker apprenticeship wherever you’d like. I cannot. Save us both trouble and go back to camp before you ruin my prospects,” Draco said. Curiously, this sounded like a conversation they had had dozens of times. 

“No, I don’t think I will,” Harry said. He reached for his wand to cast another cooling charm. 

“You’ll make yourself ill when it wears off,” Draco snapped. Harry thought of casting anyway but decided he didn’t want to collapse of heat exhaustion. It felt unfair to do that to a borrowed body. 

“Fine,” Harry said. 

“I could have handled this by myself,” Draco said. 

“If Bill thought you should handle this by yourself, he wouldn’t have sent me with you,” Harry pointed out. 

“It’s too hot for this. Will you shut up?” Draco said. 

Harry could feel the Firebird still hot against his chest, independent of the heat blazing overhead. He wasn’t sure whether it was the proximity charm or something else, but pretty much the only serious warning Hermione had given him was not to jump when it was hot. 

The pyramid loomed in the distance, appearing suddenly when they passed through some invisible barrier. Harry couldn’t tell if it had been five minutes or an hour they had been walking since the heat had a way of distorting time.

Harry couldn't help but gasp. The pyramid was beautiful, throwing off beams of light from glittering limestone. Harry took a swig from his flask as they passed into its shadow. 

"Sip your water, Potter.” Draco hadn’t even turned around. “If you sick up on the floor and set off a trap, I’ll kill you.”

Draco’s condescension came in handy since Harry did not know what he was supposed to be doing. Instead of pretending he knew the incantations, he focused his attention on Draco and followed his wandwork. As though Draco were the point on an Auror case, Harry used his intent and magic to bolster Draco rather than trying to do anything on his own.

Draco looked back at him and opened his mouth to say something then thought better of it. A barrier turned gold and disappeared. 

“Lead the way, Malfoy,” Harry said.

The antechamber was unassuming. Stepping into the larger structure, Harry turned slowly in a circle to take it all in. It looked like someone had built it just yesterday, smooth clay brick, detailed carvings and intact gold inlay tiles. The structure itself was impressive enough, but Harry had never seen a pyramid so well preserved. 

“It was probably more impressive before our government let people pillage the site, curse it and take what wasn’t theirs,” Draco said. He sounded a little wistful despite his words.

“It’s still gorgeous,” Harry breathed. Only years of training stopped him from running his fingers along the stone walls. The magic here pressed insistently, like a firm hand on his temple.

“It’s a pain in the arse is what it is. Come on,” Draco said. 

Draco led him through a few twisting hallways until they ended up in a dark room barely wide for them both. Harry cast a floating orb of light and it left them both in chiaroscuro, their shadows long and lean on the wall. 

“Let me do the counter-curse this time,” Draco said. Harry wasn’t going to argue, and he gestured to Draco to go ahead. Draco turned around.

“What’s wrong with you? Just last evening you were ready to claw my eyes out to be the one to do it.”

There was one key fact Harry had forgotten about Draco. He was incredibly enjoyable to rile up. And it was so easy. Harry wasn’t even doing it on purpose. 

“What are you waiting for? Dinner and a show? Hurry up, Malfoy,” Harry said.

He saw Malfoy’s wand twitch slightly before he turned away from him, muttering under his breath. Probably for his sake, Draco waved his wand and drew up a model of the wall they were looking at, a ghostly imprint over the real thing. Another circular motion with his wand and about twenty runes appeared. Draco waited a few seconds before re-arranging them. 

Draco used a different quick motion, and incantation for each of the runes, and they disappeared. Sometimes it was a tiny controlled motion, and sometimes it seemed like Draco had to throw all of his weight onto the balls of his feet. A few times he bit his thumb of one hand and continued to cast with the other as if it was nothing. Harry found it fascinating, watching him work. 

“See? I didn’t need you,” Draco said. 

It was quiet for a few seconds, the air filled with the sound of Draco’s heavy breathing. Then without warning the floor shifted hard, throwing them towards the left wall. Harry threw up a shield charm before they both crashed into it. This entire area seemed delicate and Harry didn’t want them touching anything unnecessarily. 

“No more magic. I don’t want to set off anything else. Fuck!” Draco said. 

The floor had opened in the middle and tilted like Tower Bridge. Harry edged towards the middle where he could see nothing but a dark hole of indeterminate depth. Harry kicked a pebble over the edge. It was longer than he liked before he heard it hit the ground. Then he spotted something out of the corner of his eye.

“There’s a stray rune,” Harry said breathlessly. The rune was wedged near where the middle of the floor had been and still glowing green. 

Draco grabbed his arm to stop Harry from falling over, but Harry wasn’t that close to the edge. 

“Twenty-one. Of course it would be twenty-one runes. Let’s switch places,” Draco said. 

Harry backed away from the edge. The angle was severe enough that he ended up planting his feet securely and helping Draco up. He had rolled his sleeves up and Harry could see the blurry indistinctness that was once a Dark Mark. So, there had been a war here. 

Draco’s skin was cool and dry in contrast with Harry’s warm and clammy hands. Draco stood at the top and swore a few times as he spotted the rune. “I need to lean over farther, laying flat over the edge,” Draco said, looking back at Harry with a serious expression. Harry could see the light reflecting in Draco’s eyes.

“Yeah. Yeah. I’ve got you.” They both carefully laid flat, with Harry wrapping his arms around Draco’s calves. Draco’s chest was hanging over the edge and remembering how deep the chasm went, Harry tightened his grip.

As suddenly as the floor had tilted upwards, it banged back down flat, with Harry pulling Draco bodily away from the edge by his legs with seconds to spare. It jostled them both hard. They both rolled onto their backs, panting. 

“Alright?” Harry asked when he caught his breath. 

“Yeah. Thanks.” said Draco. They both heaved a sigh of relief, but Draco was the first to stand, giving Harry a hand up. Sand and grime were smudged all over his shirt and face. Draco remained closer than he had previously, even when he dropped Harry’s hand, and his expression was unreadable.

“Good,” Harry said.

“Salazar. That’s enough for today. Let’s head back to camp.”

Draco didn’t look back as they left the Pyramid. The Firebird was cool, but he would have to wait for a moment to be alone. The trip back felt shorter, and they didn’t speak again until they reached a small clearing full of army green tents. A few people poked their heads out of tents to wave. 

“Bill, your babies are back,” a woman called. Bill poked his head out of the farthest tent. 

“Hello!” Bill called. 

Bill sat them both down in his tent. They gave him an account of the afternoon. Harry thought it would be unfair to blame Draco for not seeing the last rune since he was largely useless, so he glossed over that part as they took turns. Bill pinched the bridge of his nose, though he didn’t seem upset with them.

“If I’d known it was that tricky, I might have sent one of the Senior Cursebreakers with you. Good job. That’ll be the toughest part and we can get some Alexandrian government officials in sooner for recovery,” Bill said finally. 

“I need to get the sand out of my gear,” Draco said to Bill, once they finished their report. 

Harry could feel the grit in his teeth, but spitting out sand to allow more sand in his mouth had seemed futile. Harry found his way to his own tent. Helpfully, the personnel tents were in alphabetical order, with last names over the tent flaps in white block letters. His tent and Malfoy’s were side by side. 

“I guess Bill was right about both of us going,” Draco said. Before Harry could decipher that remark Draco disappeared into his tent. Harry entered his own tent, which was cool, cooler than he might have expected. 

He sat on the bed and took out the Firebird, which was still bright white. Harry pulled the wing back to centre. 

That night he fell asleep quickly. 

Harry was in a beautiful lush green forest. A tiny red cardinal alighted on a branch. When Harry went to reach out, bright green vines had bound his hands, thinner than Devil’s Snare. They tightened painfully around his ankles, thighs, wrists and biceps. Harry thrashed, and they only burned more. The vines brushed away his tears and tightened again. The bird watched him now. It spread its wing wide and swooped. Harry woke up in a cold sweat and clapped his hands over his eyes as if they might be in danger of getting pecked out. 


	4. iv. under the cover of night

Harry expected to dream of the war. However, this was unfamiliar and unsettling. He couldn’t remember a single dream that vivid in years. He laid awake until it seemed ridiculous not to get up and do something else. Candles lit as he walked down the hall and down the stairs. The last world, although interesting, hadn’t given him any obvious clues. Every world Draco had picked so far was something Harry wouldn’t have expected. But it was just a matter of somewhere interesting, Draco would still be there. 

Harry had to treat this as an actual investigation or he would never solve this and catch up to him. He flitted through the house like a ghost, spending an entire day trying to figure out how to structure this. 

He knew two things. First, it made the most sense to try in every universe to find Draco and speak to him in case it gave him more clues. Second, there was something very deliberate in the choosing. Draco was searching for something or someone. 

_Hermione,_

_I want his personnel file. Unredacted if possible._

_HP_

When he landed back at Grimmauld for the next world, the house was different. The wallpaper was light grey. The floors were shiny. Everything around him was sleek and modern, a mix of Muggle and Wizarding appliances. He walked up to the pantry doors and saw a photo of him and Ginny with three small children, all jumping in a puddle in matching yellow wellies. 

Even if they’d looked nothing like him, he would have known those were his children. His heart swelled a little at the sight. There were a few more of their friends, and it surprised him to see one of his sons pressed cheek to cheek with a blond boy who was the spitting image of Draco if he were a rather round preschooler. He would bet Galleons it was his kid blowing bubbles at the camera on a loop. 

He moved into the hallway and there he saw a calendar at about chest height. This week was marked ‘Mum’s week’ and a line through it. Then ‘Dad’s week’ below. A few other appointments dotted the calendar: new glasses for Albus, yearly checkup for Lily, Teddy in France, rmr to pick up potions for HP and JSP, takeaway Thursdays. 

Harry looked down at his left hand. There was a faded tan line where he would have worn a ring, but there was none. So they divorced then. Harry didn’t know whether it should annoy him that Draco had picked a future where he was divorced with three kids by 28. Surely a bonus if not his intention. 

Harry climbed the stairs to the bedroom and thought he might have to go wandering in Diagon before he spotted a bound notebook. He flipped it open. It was a copy of the calendar but on Harry’s weeks there were at least two times marked ‘Draco Malfoy Greengrass - Nero, Diagon’. He flipped back. Same place for two years. 

Today was marked, but it still surprised him when he showed up to the restaurant in Diagon Alley and Draco stood there in front of the restaurant. His Firebird was cool with a faint pinkish glow; Draco had been here recently, but he wasn’t here now. It was still worth it to find out more though. 

Harry had opted for jeans and a nice green cardigan over a white-collared shirt. Draco had dressed similarly, but all of his clothes seemed nicer somehow. This Draco looked like Harry expected. He was too pointy to be traditionally handsome, but he was striking with the late afternoon light shifting over his face. 

“You’re late,” Draco said. His arms were crossed.

“Sorry,” Harry said. The apology only made Draco scowl more. 

“You’re always late and you’re never sorry,” Draco replied. 

Next time Hermione complained about his lateness he could tell her he had peered into several universes and it was inherent to his character. 

“Reservation under Greengrass,” Draco said in a much nicer tone to their server. It figured his disdain was for Harry and Harry alone.

“What’s wrong with you?” Draco asked as they were seated. 

Harry didn’t think he would ever get over the fact that he could not pretend to be himself with his own face on. Harry expected Draco to sit on the other side of the table but he dropped in the booth next to Harry. The place setting was also there. Harry stared.

“Sit on the other side,” Harry said. 

“Don’t start,” Draco said and looked at his menu. “And I’ll order for you.”

“I can order for myself,” Harry grumbled. 

And he would, but the menu was in Italian. All he had learned of the language from holidays besides please and thank you was ‘sorry I am not interested in sex.’ Draco didn’t bother even pretending to consult with Harry before ordering smoothly for both of them. 

“We’ve cycled through two standard Potter topics in five minutes. What were you thinking next? Perhaps, _why should we be friends because our sons are_? It’s been a while since you trotted out, _do you think your father is burning in hell?_ Quite like that one, because at least I can take part. _”_ Draco said all of this in the same even, polite tone he had used for the waiter. 

Harry had never been close enough to see the starburst pattern in the grey of his eyes. He found it disconcerting somehow. 

“Oh alright. I’m being an awful lunch guest,” Harry said. He tore his gaze away.

“And a bad friend,” Draco added, petulantly. So they were friends here. Harry didn’t know how to process that. Their kids were friends, and he supposed it must be hard to come by other parent friends when most people his age didn’t have any. 

“Yeah. Sorry. How are you?”

Draco launched into an extremely thorough evisceration of the incompetence of the Ministry and its bureaucracy until their food came. Draco only paused long enough for Harry to realize that the lamb ragu was what he would have ordered for himself. He was eyeing Draco’s short rib gnocchi while Draco launched into part two of why the whole concept of the Government Legal Department was a crock before winding down. 

“So why do you work there again?”

“You know it was that or in-house counsel for Gringotts if I wanted reasonable hours so my son isn’t raised by a rotating cast of expensive, unionized house-elves. My wife hates...I mean, Astoria would have hated the idea.”

There was a pang of sympathy there as he caught Draco’s brief slip. It was only because Harry had lost so many people that he recognized the pain that had passed over his features. Harry remembered the Greengrass sisters vaguely. Pretty, blonde and pureblooded. He had always imagined Malfoy married to someone like that by arrangement, but he had loved her. He missed her. 

“I think she would be happy about it.”

“I would hope so,” Draco said. 

As if he was allergic to sincerity, Draco immediately pushed his plate towards Harry and he looked at Harry expectantly. They both had about a quarter of their plate left which was surprising because Harry hadn’t even noticed Draco eating at all. 

“Come on, it’s tradition by now,” Draco encouraged. 

So Harry pulled the offered plate towards him. They both silently ate part of each other’s meal. The food was excellent. Tastier than anything Harry had eaten lately, even the stuff that wasn’t Waitrose Ready Meals.

“Shall we get the bill?”

“Not unless you want Zabini to come out of the kitchen to kill us both,” Draco said like he had no opinion either way. “We do tip extravagantly though.”

Harry added Galleons to a tidy pile Draco started. 

“Come on, I promised Scorpius I’d bring him ice cream when I picked him up from Aunt Andy’s.”

Harry followed him out in a daze, and they strolled Diagon. A few stares were directed at them, but they mostly passed over Draco and looked at Harry. Harry would never stop feeling that mix of shame and embarrassment when people paid him any attention at all, even if people had stopped approaching him. Draco placed a hand on his arm and bent over.

“They’re staring because I’m terribly good-looking. They want to know why I’d even be seen with the likes of you,” Draco whispered. 

Harry laughed aloud, harder than he meant to. 

“Shut up,” Harry said. But he had relaxed and found the staring didn’t bother him as much after that remark.

“What does your son want from Fortescue's?”

“Mint chocolate,” Draco said, his accent so crisp it sounded like he was recording elocution lessons. Harry made a face. “I know. Five-year-olds. He is very much my son though.”

With overwhelming pride, Draco flashed a little wallet photo of that same blond, chubby-faced boy Harry had seen. Scorpius grinned and waved. "We went to Brighton this week." Harry had never thought about Draco much, but he had especially never thought about what he’d be like as a father. Draco seemed good at it. Harry wondered if he was any good at being a dad.

“Is picking terrible ice cream flavours a Malfoy trait?” “We’re Greengrasses now. No, I mean the sweet tooth. At that age, I ate sugar cubes out of the box.”

“That’s disgusting,” Harry said. 

“Yes. I’ve watched you put away half a treacle tart as an adult, so no one’s perfect.” Draco said. “What will you have?” 

“A vanilla cone,” Harry said. He wasn’t looking at the board in the shop. He was looking at Florean Fortescue. 

“Why not the chai?” Harry admitted that sounded better. 

Draco turned to Florean. “Can I have one lemon ice, one chai ice cream, and four pints to go? One mint chocolate, one vanilla, one pistachio, one cinnamon toast. Those are your children’s regular orders, right?”

Funny enough, it was that sentence that shocked Harry into reflecting despite the lovely meal and stroll, he was here for a reason. Florean in his universe had died. Draco knew what ice cream flavours his children liked. Here was Harry, licking a chai ice cream cone like none of it mattered. Draco handed him the bag as they finished.

“The freezing charm never works as long as they say. I’m off. We should go flying with the kids next weekend.”

Draco waved and left. 

Harry made it back to Grimmauld before hopping back to his world. It was important, somehow, that they were close to each other in these worlds. That was the key difference in his world and there. Draco was something closer to a tertiary character in his life now. 

Before Harry had thought of Draco all the time and now, he simply didn’t. It was strange, wasn’t it? That his world had narrowed so much and he had forgotten so much. He had forgotten how it felt to throw himself completely into everything. He had forgotten how it felt to be that entangled in a mystery with consequences for everyone. 

Exactly what was Draco Malfoy up to?


	5. v. where the wind touched

“They say it’s new, but it’s always old,” a voice said. Harry turned around to face Luna Lovegood in a field of yellow tulips. Here she was about eleven, barefoot with bumblebee earrings and a set of overalls so large on her thin frame she had belted them with a frayed length of rope and rolled the legs several times. Her blond hair was waist length and her eyes were bright. She reached out and held one of his hands in hers. 

“What?” Harry said. 

“The magic is always old, Harry.” Her voice echoed and echoed and echoed. 

He startled awake, even though this dream seemed more benign than the others. This fucking case. It was getting to him. He rubbed his face hard. Harry tried to hold on to the dream, but the details slipped away like trying to catch wind in a sieve. 

Hermione would have some technical explanation for it. But the dreams didn’t happen when he stayed and did happen when he went to the other worlds. He didn’t need to have seven NEWTs to draw the conclusion the two things were related. 

Hermione had answered his note: _Working on it._

It was already eight am. Harry swung his feet down to the floor, went to his case journal and wrote. He took most of the morning to write his memories in case the common thread became more obvious later on. 

So far they had been in a relationship, a general and his spy, coworkers and actual friends. But something as simple as “Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy were bound closely by fate” sounded too much like rubbish to consider seriously. Maybe there was something he had that Draco wanted. Draco would not be the first person who had learned Harry had touched the Hallows. And he wouldn’t be the first desperate person to think Harry could bring someone back.

This time when he jumped back in, Harry found himself waiting out front of an old Wizarding castle in Kent that was often used for events. Cameras flashed and Harry tried to blink away the splotches of colour in his vision.

He spotted Hermione and Draco, looking for all the world like the beloved reigning King and Queen. The cameras turned away from him to take pictures of them, and Harry drew closer to them.

In his world, Ron and Hermione were inevitable. They were a fact of nature, like autumn leaves and gravity. At their wedding, Ron’s speech was about how it scared him the way he had felt when he first looked at Hermione because he knew there was no going back. 

But here in this universe, Hermione was gazing at Draco, Draco was staring back. His cloak was a deep rich sapphire blue, and Hermione had matched him subtly, in her earrings and necklace, and the laces from her ballet pumps that wound up her calf and disappeared under her black dress. Her hair was loose, in shiny tumbling curls. 

When she looked at Harry, her mouth straightened unhappily. 

“Harry. It’s been a while,” Hermione said. Her tone was unmistakably icy. How could it have been a while since he saw his best friend?

“It has,” Harry agreed. When he turned his attention to Draco he realized why. Where Hermione and Draco clasped hands here, they wore matching silver wedding bands. Without him, his stomach lurched at the idea. 

“Harry,” Malfoy greeted him warmly. “You’ve been dodging our owls.”

“Sorry about that. Just busy,” Harry said. Hermione made a little disbelieving sound. 

"Busy with what?" Draco asked softly. 

"Ah, you know this and that." Harry was a shit actor. 

The longer he stood there the more he recognized that borrowed feeling wasn’t a general distaste for Malfoy as he might have imagined. It was longing. The ache in his chest wasn’t his own, but it didn’t lessen looking directly at Draco. 

His necklace sat hidden but still warm against his chest.

They proceeded to the check-in queue, and they handed Harry a table card at the back, while they handed Draco and Hermione one by the stage. 

“Can I sit with them?” Harry said. The welcome witch froze.

“Of course, Mr. Potter. Your assistant said...” she trailed off, looking at Draco and Hermione.

“They were mistaken. I’ll sit with them,” Harry said. Damn him, he was curious. He wanted to know this version of them both. 

Harry got three glasses of champagne to the table, as the serving wizard winked at him. Harry thought he was handsome, then tried to figure out whether it was just because the man was blond and in this universe, Harry had a thing for Draco. How did this work anyway? How could Harry know whether it was him or his current self? 

“Draco doesn’t drink,” Hermione chastised. 

“Yes. Sorry.” He passed one extra champagne flute back to the waiter and held one out to Hermione. He could see her deciding whether it was rude to refuse before gripping it tightly. 

“Is Ron coming?” Harry asked. He expected Hermione to answer.

“You never know with Ron. Maybe if Pansy drags him along,” Draco said. 

Well, then. That made sense to an extent. If Hermione was with Draco, Ron would have to be with someone else. But he would have imagined someone like Katie Bell or Lavender Brown. Maybe someone more nurturing and indulgent. No matter what world they were in, that wasn’t describing Pansy Parkinson. 

They ate a severely under-seasoned chicken breast with a salty brown sauce and boiled veg. Harry caught Hermione’s eye and they both made a face. She tapped two fingers of her glass and gave him a tiny knowing smile. 

In his world, every time they went to functions they rated the food like they were on one of Hermione’s favourite cooking shows. Nothing had cracked a five out of ten in years. It made Harry happy they still had that even if they wouldn’t go looking for food afterward. As if she had caught herself, her smile slipped off her face and she turned to Draco.

“Kingsley said Pansy’s pretty much done with the trade deal,” Hermione said. 

“Already? Haven’t they been bickering with the Canadians for the last decade over the potions ingredient restrictions?” Draco asked. 

“That’s why they sent Pansy,” Hermione joked. “Rumour is she told the Wizarding Prime Minister she would marry him if he’d tell her what he bloody wanted.”

It was the first time this evening Harry had seen her relax, bantering with Malfoy. 

“And what did he want?”

“Extended travel visa access and a better seat than the Americans at the next Wizarding Nations meeting hosted in Europe,” Hermione said. Draco snorted. 

“At the rate MACUSA is going, several crime cartels are going to have a better seat than the Americans next summit.”

"Now Draco, that's no way to refer to the Monegasque royals," Hermione said with a bit of tease in her voice. Draco grinned then, so happy it lit up his face.

Draco cleared his throat.

“You always found that kind of thing boring, sorry,” he said to Harry while Hermione flagged down another glass of champagne. 

“It’s...it’s always nice to see you and Hermione. I’m not as much of an intellectual as you two,” Harry said, poking fun at himself. Draco frowned.

“You’ve got to stop doing that,” he said. 

“Doing what?” Harry said, aware he may have wandered into a trap. 

“Putting yourself down. I don’t—we don’t think about you like that. You have other interests.” It was almost touching how hard Draco was trying.

"It was just a joke,” Harry said.

Harry could see why he had fallen for this Draco, even if it was hopeless. 

“You used to say you regretted introducing us again,” Draco said. He said it with a light laugh. Harry opted not to answer that for a moment by taking a large swig of champagne.

“What do you want me to say to that?” he asked Draco. Hermione was at another table greeting someone. 

“Something like I’m so glad to have brought you two together.”

Harry could guess at what happened here. He started all his relationships with a friendship. But then he would have introduced them again at a party or something. Hermione would have only agreed if Harry vouched for him, he thought. Harry was not good with feelings, even his own. He wouldn’t have recognized what it meant when his chest tightened when he saw them together. By the time he would have noticed them circling each other, it would have been too late. 

“Well, now there’s the two of you and I’m single. Bad scheme, don’t you think?” Harry was aware he was drawing closer and closer to interference. 

“Harry, you can find someone if that’s what you want.” Draco was so sincere when he leaned over to put a hand on the back of Harry’s chair. Draco smelled spicy and warm, like a cup of mulled cider after a winter hike. Harry wanted to bolt. Forget about the rest of it, it was this casual closeness that would have torn him apart, little by little. 

“I don’t want to find someone else. I’m perfectly happy,” Harry said. Fuck, all this pining worked up a thirst. He didn’t know how this Harry could stand it. He took champagne flute numbers two and three. He tossed them both back, sending a silent apology to himself. 

“Pull the other one. What is it? You're not happy,” Draco said. His voice sounded worried. 

Fortunately for Harry, Hermione came back.

“Dance and then we’ll leave?” Hermione said. 

Harry had been avoiding interfering with other universes’ Harrys but maybe it was time to interfere a little. 

“Let’s have dinner next week maybe and catch up?” Harry offered. Draco gaped. Hermione frowned.

“That would be...” Hermione said. 

“That would be wonderful,” Draco said. “We’ve missed you.”

They swept away and Harry watched them with an aching chest. It was easier now to understand what feelings belonged to him and which to his body. But it didn’t help to know. He let the confusion wash over him as well as the pain and longing. Then he got up and walked into an empty side room and sent himself back to Grimmauld.

That night he dreamt that he was in his quarters at Hogwarts and it was gradually filling with ice-cold water. The waves lapped over his desk, over his kitchen and his dining table. 

He was desperately trying to save his things. He scrambled to pick up a book, pictures of his friends and family, a sliver of the mirror from Sirius mounted in a frame. But the water soon closed over his head and he sank to the bottom.

Harry tried to hold his breath from long enough, but he felt a tightness in his chest and a burning in his throat. He opened his mouth. The water rushed in. He awoke drenched in sweat and gasping for air. 


	6. vi. and the sun burned

Draco’s personnel file came in, through his closed fireplace. It hadn’t turned green, just shot from an empty grate onto his kitchen table, smoking slightly.

_Harry_

_The file is charmed to disintegrate outside of Mysteries. I’ve stabilized it, but it won’t last longer than a few hours. Don’t write to me for a week unless it’s an emergency. HGW_

Harry immediately sat and read through. Some sections were blacked out, but it gave him a vague sense of things he had been uncertain about. An unsmiling Draco blinked up at him.   
  
_Name: Draco Lucius Malfoy  
Title: Principal Investigator (Class A)   
Office: Special Projects  
_ _Department: Time & Reality  
_ _Clearance: Enhanced Top Secret (Permanent)_

Even Harry had only had temporary Top Secret clearance for certain missions. He frowned. The rest was about what Harry had expected. He flicked through to see if he could note anything else. This project had begun three years ago, Hermione managed it overall and the other Principal Investigator had been Theodore Nott. Otherwise, there was nothing else interesting. His primary address was a London flat in a posh Mixed Muggle-Wizard neighbourhood. Next of kin listed Pansy Parkinson, address in Naxos, Greece.

Harry had fallen back into examining Draco closely like it was an old cloak. He tried to parse his motives more generously than he would have back then, but otherwise, he was quite literally following him around and trying to see what he was up to.

Harry carried this with him in every waking moment. He would find himself writing more and more things to remember what was here and what was there. Because they were him, and he was him, and the specifics of the worlds felt different, but they had seemed the same in some important way.

When Harry jolted into the next universe, Draco was kissing him.

Seeing the pattern across the universes, he had prepared for this possibility. But he hadn’t yet realized how kissing Draco would _feel_. Draco tasted good, he tasted right, sliding his mouth over his. It had been so long since he felt even a shadow of this desire for someone. This felt specific; it couldn’t have been about anyone.

And Merlin, Draco’s hands were everywhere. They pulled at his hair, took off his jacket and slid up his back. It was Harry who broke their kiss to mouth around Draco’s jaw, to taste the salt on his skin. Harry allowed himself a few precious seconds longer so he wouldn’t startle Draco and then pulled away to find out where he was. He felt guilty that he had let himself get carried away.

Draco’s hair was mussed, his lips were red, and his pale neck already had faint pink marks where Harry’s teeth had presumably been. Harry’s Firebird did not glow.

“Let’s talk,” Harry said.

“You don’t pay me to talk, Harry,” Draco said. He had draped himself in a sheer emerald green silk robe that only reached mid-thigh. His legs were so long. There was so much skin. Harry felt his cheeks heat and looked away.

“I’ll pay you to talk, this once,” Harry said. He sat heavily on the bed since there was nowhere else to sit, and Draco opened the balcony doors and stood. Was that the Eiffel Tower in the distance?

“You’ve ruined the joke. This is where you say ‘but I don’t pay you anything’,” Draco said.

“But I don’t pay you anything,” Harry said obediently. Draco scoffed.

“You have killed the joke twice now,” Draco informed him.

Draco reached into a dresser and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.

“Can I borrow your wand?” Draco asked casually.

Harry patted his pocket and handed it over. With an elegant gesture, he lit his cigarette.

“I can’t believe the British Ministry has convinced the French Ministry not to give me my wand after all these years,” Draco said. He said it without any heat. As if it was exactly what he expected and therefore terribly boring.

“Yes, I know smoking is a filthy habit. Stop looking at me like that. I'll get cancer and you'll be very upset,” Draco said, misreading Harry’s confusion. His accent had shifted a little, and he sounded like he spent more time speaking French than English these days.

“So how are you, Unspeakable Potter? What are you brooding over today? Is it the fate of the universe or climate change?”

Harry laughed. He hadn’t expected Draco to be this amusing in any iteration. This had nothing to do with the investigation, but Harry thought he liked these Dracos absent from their context. They were all missing something, but they were intriguing. They were vivid in a way his Draco didn’t seem to be. What were the choices those Dracos had made that made the difference?

“Something like that, yes. I’m trying to find someone,” Harry said. It felt easier to stick close to the truth. Draco made a listening noise, tapping his cigarette on an ashtray balanced on the bannister. It was like Draco was waiting for Harry to ask something in particular, but Harry wasn’t sure what it could be.

“If you were to run, where would you go?” Harry asked instead, curious. He didn’t think it could help, but this was a Draco if not his Draco.

“Depends on what I’m running from. I ran once already, to here,” Draco said. He let the silence stretch until all Harry heard was the irregular tap-tap of Draco flicking his ash.

“But I wouldn’t want to be running from you,” Draco said. He winked and Harry could feel himself blush.

This was unethical. It was highly unethical. He was not the Harry that this Draco had an arrangement with, no matter how many inches of skin he exposed on his thighs. Whether money changed hands, which he wasn't quite clear on.

Harry wondered about the sex they might have and once he went in that direction he pulled back. Get a hold of yourself, he thought sternly. He should have broken off that kiss the moment he had entered.

There was a moment where Draco paused, shuddered, and looked at him like a stranger. Harry looked at his Firebird by chance and it glowed red. He looked back at Draco and there was a looping silver chain disappearing into his robes.

“Draco?” Harry asked. His heart raced. This was his Draco.

“They sent you?” Draco asked. He stood up straight. All the languorousness of Parisian Draco had left his body entirely.

“They said your Firebird is malfunctioning. You could get stuck.You can come home!” Harry explained, frantic.

“Let me be. It doesn’t matter,” Draco said. His voice was so flat, emotionless.

“Just tell me what you’re searching for!” Harry said.

“That won’t be possible, Harry.”

It was to date, the first time he thought Draco had ever said his name. Probably a habit from too many lives Draco had jumped through. Harry could tell his Firebird was still hot as Draco gripped it. Harry reached for him.

“Wait! Don’t jump, it’s already unstable!” But Draco pulled the wing back and went blank behind the eyes.

“I have the strangest headache and I’ve forgotten what I was saying a moment ago,” Draco said. He picked up the cigarette from where it had dropped and burned a hole in the carpet. Harry waved a wand to fix the scorch mark.

Harry must have said something. Something because Draco went to the bathroom, and he left Harry standing alone, heart racing and palms sweaty. But next he was aware, he stood on the balcony. He reached under his shirt and pulled the left wing of his Firebird.

He dreamt of flash floods, forest fires and narrowly escaping a volcano. He dreamt of Draco’s hand, warm and sure in his grasp as he leaned over the edge of the top of a Pyramid. The dreams were going to finally drive him up the wall.

Sometimes the house would shift the way Wizarding buildings did. It would seem to take and hold a breath, with the shutters flung open and the hallways bright. And Harry would wonder if he was dreaming then, too. It made him feel like the entire house was only anchored to this universe but for the grace of Merlin. Nothing felt real anymore.

He should have tried to rest, but Harry flung himself in and out of universes. They weren’t infinite, but there were enough to see most were alike. Enough to bury the adrenaline thrumming in his veins. These worlds were all the same, weren’t they? They were all polite, tamer, impossible versions of his own world, a place where people said sorry and made amends and became friends. Harry was a Quidditch star and Draco was his coach. Harry was a reporter and Draco was a politician. Harry was a tutor and Draco was the widower of one of his charges. Harry was witty; Draco was well-liked. These were places where Harry was not alone most of the time.

As he stopped in the last world, he realized he might have made a mistake in his assessment.

There was an immediate tension in the air as he fell into this world. Scars covered his body if his hands and arms were any indication. He was dirty, his hair was falling into his eyes, and he felt bone-tired.

He had dropped into a ramshackle house. The walls leaned on each other at odd angles like they, too, were tired. The building was mostly empty except for piles of broken concrete, rubble and stray rubbish. Anything that might have made this recognizable as a home had long since been broken or taken. Someone had plastered the front windows with layers of wanted posters. Harry carefully pulled off a poster, and he stared back at himself.

_TERRORIST, MASS MURDERER, TRAITOR_

_Loose lips sink ships. The Order of the Phoenix wants us to lose the War! Information about the whereabouts of Harry Potter or associates will fetch a 500 Galleon reward and extra rations._

For the first time, Harry worried that he was going to get himself killed. He knew nothing about this world. And apparently, he wasn’t carrying a wand either from a brief search of his clothes.

Harry dug up an old Prophet from a nearby pile of abandoned construction material. He couldn’t read anything but the words ‘General Bellatrix Lestrange’ and the same date he had left his home. He couldn’t imagine. It had been ten years. Ten more years of Voldemort’s rule here. That sent a chill through his body.

This world had teeth.

Draco apparated into the building with that awful Death Eater billow of black smoke, wand pointed. Harry couldn’t even defend himself if he wanted.

“Potter,” Draco said. His voice was soft and dangerous.

Draco looked much cleaner than he did. The Death Eater insignia pinned on his black cloak was brightly polished. His hair was pulled back tightly, his eyes were a flat slate grey, his boots were shiny. He looked like a soldier. So this time who would be the General and who was the spy?

“What was your first birthday cake?” Draco asked.

“Um, it was chocolate. Pink icing. Green writing. Hagrid made it for me when he came to give me my Hogwarts letter.”

He hoped to Merlin this was not a universe where Hagrid had baked a vanilla cake or he’d be dead.

Draco lowered his wand. Harry scrambled for a question of his own.

“What did you say during our first duel?” Harry asked.

“Scared, Potter?” Draco mumbled.

“I am,” Harry said. Easily.

“What a stupid question.”

There was so much relief when he saw Draco. This Harry practically bowled Harry over with the strength of his feelings. It must be exhausting to feel this much all the time. He would have thought a continuing War would make him the opposite—more reserved, more disciplined.

Draco searched his robes for a sheaf of papers. Something that should have been long dead under the circumstances enjoyed just watching Draco reach into a hidden pocket.

“It’s mostly troop movements. I wasn’t able to get the extra rations across the border to the camps, but I’ll try to get them from Nott’s regiment.” Draco promised.

“Thank you, Draco,” Harry said, sincere. Something twisted up in Draco’s face.

“I’m not a hero, Potter,” Draco sneered.

“Then why are you keeping me alive?” Harry said. There was no way that he could do this for ten long years without help from the inside.

“You are our only hope of this hell being over. I’m tired of this.” Draco said.

“Is that all?” Harry pushed. He wanted to know why. Why was it that every universe had drawn them together in one way or another? This was the second universe where Draco had been on the right side. He had all the makings of a spy, so maybe it was wish fulfillment.

“Damn you, Harry.” Draco looked away. A stray rock bounced somewhere upstairs with a loud clatter. This Harry’s nerves were so shot, Harry couldn’t flinch.

“You didn’t answer me,” Harry said.

“They can’t suspect anything, you understand,” Draco said intensely, staring at Harry.

“I know, I just...” Harry trailed off.

“No. _Harry_. If they think anything, I’m dead and you’re dead. I feel as though I should fucking strangle you, does that answer your question?”

Harry thought he spoke a little Malfoy at this point. Translation: I don’t want to talk about it.

“I understand,” Harry said.

“You don’t understand at all,” Draco said softly.

Harry angled his chin up defiantly. “You’re right.”

“I’ve risked everything. What else do you want from me?”

He felt bereft, even though Draco still stood in front of him. Then Draco stepped closer to Harry and tilted his chin upwards with two fingers.

“Reckless.” Harry was not sure whether Draco was talking to himself or Harry.

“You’ll Obliviate me, won’t you?” Draco whispered. Harry nodded. He could do that. But why?

The answer came as Draco swept Harry into his arms, tucking Harry’s head underneath his chin. Harry wouldn’t have expected this. And if he did, he definitely wouldn’t have expected how tenderly he was being held, as if he was a precious, breakable thing. His hands tangled in Harry’s hair.

“This is why,” Draco whispered, leaning back. His eyes were darting all over Harry’s face. “If you must know. This is why.”

Draco pulled him in tight again desperately but still gentle. Harry found his hands sliding up Draco’s torso underneath his cloak. He could offer some limited comfort. This all felt familiar and close, like the dancing had been.

Draco stepped back and passed him his wand.

“Everything?” Harry asked, running his fingers over the smooth wood. He had done this a fair few times as an Auror.

“The last part. I can shut out the rest of our meeting.” Harry cast and watched as he cut those few minutes and Draco’s eyes went blank and refocused. Harry hurried and gave him the wand back; he didn’t want Draco to realize the missing time was his fault.

“Next week, then. I’ll get you the location.”

Draco apparated away in a churn of black.


	7. vii. every petal bloomed

It would be easy to make a story out of what happened five years ago. Something with neat lines, cause and effect, a beginning, middle, and end. It would certainly have felt better if Harry could confront a particular case or confine it to that day and that day alone. 

But it wasn’t the truth. 

Here was the plain truth: Harry had been an Auror and he had always had trouble with boundaries. He’d woken up with case scrolls imprinted on his face. He lied during his annual assessments about how much sleep he got. Everyone did. There had been no one left at home to say ‘why don’t you come to bed, love’ because he stopped being able to have that around him. It all felt like a lie. There were always more kidnappings and raids and new addictive potions. 

On the wireless at work one day, he heard a pundit say: “I’m sorry but it seems that magic society has become weak. No one is allowed to have any opinions anymore. We’re not to say anything true. What about the fact there are legitimate questions about how muggleborns acquire magic? Is no one allowed to say that without being accused of being a Death Eater?” 

“Shut it off, Williams,” Harry snapped.

Harry had always been angry those days. Always angry and always exhausted. There were times he had been held together with nothing but caffeine and the need to do the right thing. Nothing he could do felt like it helped but he didn’t know how to do anything else. 

Maybe it was that day or the day after. His team had been working on a series of break-ins at old Wizarding homes. All of the families had young children, too young for Hogwarts. They hid behind skirts and couches when Harry went to go visit. Some ran up, bold as brass, to ask if he was really Harry Potter. 

He spoke to the parents, but he couldn’t help notice them.

“What are you working on?” He’d asked one little girl. He tried to be kind when he could. She looked around five or six. Harry always went alone when there had been multiple visits; after the initial shock of an incident wore off more than one Auror in the home made people nervous. 

“My letters,” she lisped

“Good,” Harry said. She beamed. This encounter pierced the fog he had been in. 

He thought about it briefly as he reported back to the Ministry. She was learning her letters and the sounds they made. She would string them together. Someone would teach her. She would learn to read. She could grow up to be a hairdresser or a barrister. What a wonderful thing. 

Later that night, Senior Auror Alicia Spinnet was struck with a stray curse while shopping. Harry had been the first to report to St Mungo’s while Healers in lime green robes poured from all over the building into her operating theatre. When they finally told him she had passed, all he could think while her wife sobbed in his arms, was that he didn’t want to do this anymore. He didn’t think he could. 

☆☆☆ 

_Harry,_

_Yes, this is entirely off the book. Can you imagine the chaos if it got out that you could go to a parallel dimension where all your dreams come true? It’s too tempting. I’ve lost two people already. I don’t trust anyone in the Department with something like this. Neither does Kingsley. We are trusting you._

_HGW_

Harry went back to one universe a day schedule afterwards. He could not keep his head clear enough without it. He took a day to rest. He shaved his beard which was unruly with neglect. It had been so long he had to do a trim first with scissors. He had taken a shower remembering the grime of the last universe. He had flossed, and changed his sheets instead of spelling them clean. 

The next day he jumped wearily into the next world. It seemed normal enough on the surface. 

Harry was standing at the main Apparition point in Diagon. A small sticky note in his hand had an address off Knockturn Alley. Harry decided to make his way there. Imagine if all his other selves wrote things down. It would have made this much easier.

So Harry walked. 

He passed one other person, an elderly Black witch who shuffled past slowly, heading back to Diagon. Her eyes flicked up to his scar and then to his face. “This area is no good. Be careful, sweetie,” she called. Harry nodded. Before he’d thought it was because he looked young and these strangers didn’t know who he was. Now, he took it as a small acknowledgment of kinship. 

The shops were getting less busy and the cobblestones more uneven. Still, it was nothing out of the ordinary. There were the same signs of the War if you knew where to look, but nothing, nothing like that last world. A small stencilled lily was still visible on the lower-left corner of some dingier looking homes. It looked almost accidental, like a child’s drawing, and it was easy to miss if you didn’t look.

Lee Jordan had told him later. The lily was the symbol of safe havens for Muggleborns during the War. 

Harry was not surprised to stroll into Malfoy’s Apothecary.

“You’re here early. I need to finish another order before I can package yours.”

Harry nodded as if he knew why he was there. He stood there in silence, watching Draco. He was checking a dozen cauldrons and several dozen more ingredients he’d set to chop and distill and strain themselves with a flick of his wand. It was like watching a conductor at the orchestra. He didn’t know how Draco kept track of all the activity.

“Should I come back in ten minutes?” Harry said. 

“Eh?” Draco said distractedly. Harry was about to repeat himself when Draco answered belatedly. “No, by the time you get to any of the other shops, I’ll be done.”

“No inane chatter for me, Potter? What’s the matter?” Draco continued.

Harry asked the first question that came to mind since he was hungry and a little desperate for more of this normalcy. “What are you making for dinner?”

“I don’t cook, Harry,” Draco said, frowning at him. 

At least, Harry thought Draco was frowning at him, but he could be frowning at the potion that was pouring plumes of marshmallow scented black smoke onto the floor before Draco contained it with a wave of his wand. 

“I told Tinzel the substitution wouldn’t work,” Draco muttered to himself, vanishing the contents of the cauldron and writing some notes in a journal.

“Isn't Potions a lot like cooking?” Harry ventured. 

“No potions is not _a lot like cooking._ ” Draco sounded offended at the very idea. _“_ If you taste an unfinished potion, you'll die unpleasantly.”

He gave Harry a look like he thought Harry might be tempted to take a sip from one of his cauldrons to disprove this theory. 

“Besides, I can’t cook,” Draco admitted. 

“Similar mechanics though,” Harry said. His workshop reminded him of Molly’s kitchen during a holiday meal, the more he looked. But presumably, it was always like this. 

“In the way that running is like fucking, Potter, sure.” Draco slashed the air and two cauldrons began pouring themselves into empty glass vials. 

“Is Potions the running or the fucking in this metaphor?” Harry said. 

“Forgive me, I forgot your approach is probably the same for both,” Draco said. “Too fast and without pacing yourself.” 

Harry wanted to laugh at Draco’s self-satisfied little smile. Draco stirred a vial with a glass stick and it made a pleasant tinkling sound and turned bright green.

“You’ve spent an awful lot of time imagining how I fuck, have you?” Harry asked. Harry had forgotten what a simple pleasure this could be, flirting badly with no consequences.

“They let you teach impressionable minds at the Muggleborn Centre with that filthy mouth? I’m shocked.” This time Harry did laugh loudly.

“Tell my cousin Edward never to have his Wolfsbane made by that hack of a Potions Professor at Hogwarts ever again. What you brought me for testing was at least half-strength what it should have been.”

Teddy. He meant Teddy. 

“I’ll tell him.” Harry had a flashback to Remus telling him how difficult Wolfsbane had been to brew as Draco handed over the package. 

"Desjardins and I went into our Potions mastery together. He’s a mediocre brewer, completely lacking imagination. Too confident despite that. Maybe I'd call him if I wanted someone to fuck my wife." 

Draco glanced over at Harry’s expression, which was caught between confusion and more laughter. 

“Relax, Potter. My hypothetical spouse is safe from his attentions. The Potionmaster General’s wife in Aqui-Sext, however...” Draco trailed off. “Well, I suspect Desjardins passed because the man didn’t want to see him ever again if he failed.”

“Thank you for this. How much do I owe you?” Harry asked. 

“He’s my cousin, you degenerate,” Draco said. 

Harry thought of how far he had to walk to find Draco’s shop, how the other shops surrounding him had shuttered windows, waterlogged notices and yellowing newspapers mouldering on their doorsteps. He thought of the abundance of opportunities for forgiveness and amends available in almost every other world Draco had picked. He thought of his Draco eating alone in the basement of the Ministry and that he had worked in the department no one else in the Ministry liked.

“What about for me? I’d like something then,” Harry said. 

“Really? Like what?” Draco said. He stood, tapping his foot impatiently as if he knew Harry was bullshitting. 

“Dreamless Sleep,” Harry said, naming the first potion that came to mind. 

“Do you have a Healer’s note for that?” Draco asked.

“Er...no,” Harry said. 

“If it’s not prescribed by a Healer, don’t take it. It’ll ruin your life. Trust me, I would know,” Draco said. Harry didn’t know whether he meant from work or personal experience. 

“Felix Felicis?” Harry said. 

“I’m out. Do you know any potions that aren’t controlled substances?” Draco’s lips were twitching minutely like he was trying not to smile. 

“Amortentia,” Harry said desperately. 

“I don’t sell it in my shop,” Draco said. "Even you could brew your own if you wanted it. Not that you would need to." The last part came out all wrong like Draco had meant it to be a cutting observation about his fame instead of Draco admitting he thought Harry was fit. Harry was pleased. 

“Something for headaches?” Harry ventured. 

“I don’t need your charity. And I already know you’re behind the Ministry ordering from my shop,” Draco accused. Harry didn’t deny it. Sounded like something he’d do. 

“I owe you one,” Harry said, finally giving up. 

“And I owe you a Life Debt. If you’re going to waste my time talking rubbish, get out of my shop,” Draco said. Draco made a pushing motion and Harry found himself on the other side of the glass shop door with Draco waving with a serene expression on the other side. 


	8. viii. every stalk withered

They were getting closer and closer together. 

Harry cast for a far universe. He couldn’t be sure why because he had been sticking mostly close. But he thought he should see a far universe to know if his theory was correct. He had an inkling about the pattern all the universes formed. 

Right wing rotated twice clockwise. 

Harry landed while descending the steps and tripped. He knocked down a photo that was hanging on the wall and caught it. The picture was of him aged approximately ten, standing with his parents. They were all smiling and waving. A day in Brighton, it looked like. A magical universe since the photo moved. Something about the photo wasn't quite right, but Harry couldn't pinpoint it. 

“Are you alright ducky?” An older woman said at the landing. She didn’t wait for his answer before putting her hands on her hips and shouting up the stairs. 

“James, I told you to untack the bleeding carpet from the stairs! Harry’s nearly fallen,” she called, using a wandless Sonorus charm. 

When she turned her face back to Harry, he felt a shock. Lily Evans Potter’s eyes were exactly the same shade of green as his, just as people told him his whole life. She looked a little like Aunt Petunia now she was older, truth be told, but with softer features and auburn hair framing her face in a sharp bob. 

“Sorry! Sorry. I’ll do it tomorrow!” He had never heard his father’s voice so casually, but it sounded like his. Harry froze on the landing, rubbing his ankle. He felt a comforting hand placed on his shoulder. 

“That’s what you said last week.” She didn’t use another charm, but she was loud enough without it. 

“Your father will be the death of me,” she said fondly. “Upstairs in his books again because he thinks he’s found a new alchemical compound. I’ll be lucky to see him for a fortnight. At least my work stops at 5.”

Harry stumbled down the rest of the stairs into the foyer. Their home reminded him a lot of Grimmauld Place, but cozier and less formal. He heard some muffled bickering as his mum marched up the stairs and then two sets of footsteps came down. 

Harry was a few inches taller than both of his parents, taller than he was at home. His father looked like him aside from the thinning grey hair, but some differences wouldn’t show up in a memory or photograph. Like the fact that the sheepish smile on his father’s face looked exactly like his own. He’d assumed his kids in the other universe had their freckles from Ginny, but it could have easily been from his mum.

In his universe, he was older than they had ever got to be. Here he could see both of them in him as an adult. More James in the softness of his mouth and the corner of his eyes. More Lily in that habit of smoothing his hand over his hair, as she did now. 

They all stood by the entryway. 

“Sorry, I promise I’ll get to it eventually,” his dad said. His dad kissed his mum on the cheek. 

“Off to your flat?” he asked Harry. 

Harry nodded. He didn’t trust himself to speak.

“Don’t know why you and Draco had to rent a flat in London. Godric’s Hollow is important,” his father said. 

“Leave him alone. He’s young. Of course they want to live in London,” his mum said. She pinched Harry's cheek just this side of too hard. He had seen this with the Weasleys, and he knew the expected thing was to complain about the fussing, but he couldn’t bring himself to. 

“Everything there costs an arm and leg. D’you know that’s how Alastor lost his leg? London real estate,” his father continued, winking outrageously. 

Harry laughed. His mum theatrically rolled her eyes. 

“I like London,” Harry said simply. 

He had this argument with his friends in reverse when he bought his cottage. All his friends had tried to get him to be closer to them in the summer. They had wanted him to move closer to wizarding communities, or in a bigger city at least. Not because you couldn’t apparate or Floo, but because it was harder to do impromptu dinners or casual hangouts—out of sight, out of mind. 

Sometimes they had forgotten him entirely and everyone would have a new inside joke he wasn’t privy to next time he came around. One day he’d shown up to some dinner and Blaise had joined their group. No one thought it was strange, but no one could explain either. Harry didn’t mind so much though. He could stand a little loneliness for some privacy. 

“Remember there have been Potters in Godric’s Hollow since the sixteenth century. It was the first Black Wizarding community in the UK. It’s important that we keep it alive,” his father said.

Harry hadn’t known that. He had thought it had just been a random place his parents had picked and happened to die. Harry knew by now that Draco wasn’t interested in straying too far from their timeline. Godric’s Hollow’s significance could be different in his world, but it never occurred to him to ask. He realized again that he’d been denied so much knowledge. 

“I’ll think about it,” Harry said. 

“How is Draco? Work treating him well?” his father said. He was trying to be casual, but there was something pointed about the inquiry. 

“Yeah, he likes it,” Harry guessed. 

“At least that boy didn’t take after Lucius,” His mum said in a slightly disapproving tone. Subtler than Molly Weasley, but there nonetheless. It was surreal to have any insight into her personality. His parents could be something other than a collection of other people’s memories. His throat closed. He wanted to stay. He wanted to stay so badly. 

“I’ve got a terrible headache,” Harry said. “Do you mind taking me home? I’m worried I’ll be sick in the Floo.”

“You should have said something earlier. Jamie, top cabinet on the left?” his mother said. She put an arm lightly around him. “Has this been happening a lot? It’s not a migraine, is it?”

“No,” Harry said. He faked a wince, and she stroked his arm. 

His father summoned and handed him three vials of a headache potion. “Extra strength, just in case. One drop or three.” 

They walked him to the foyer with more questions to see if he was okay. Then his mum stepped into the Floo with him and said “10 Bridal Court” and the fireplace whisked them away. 

“You’ll lie down, won’t you?” his mum said, stepping into a spacious grey and white flat. Somehow this was what made him tear up a little. 

“Yeah sure mum. Will do.” He kissed her on the cheek and gave her a big hug. Over her shoulder he glanced at a mirror over the fireplace at his face. There was no scar at all. Huh.

“I’ll Owl tomorrow to check on you, alright?” his mum said. Harry nodded. 

“I love you, Mum,” Harry said. This was the only time he would ever get to say it. “Tell Dad I love him too.”

“You can tell him yourself next week. We love you, Harry. Potter Residence.” his mum disappeared into emerald flames. It took a few moments to clear the tightness in his chest.

“Harry?” Draco called. 

“I heard your mum thunder in and I was eating pretzels with no shirt on. Fucking booked it to the other room.” Draco complained. 

Indeed, he appeared to have been lounging around in his pants and acquired a faded Gryffindor t-shirt. Harry stared at it. Maybe he had been sorted into Gryffindor here. Anything was possible. 

Harry settled on, “Sorry. Nice shirt.”

“It's yours. Your room was closer.”

Harry had a...thing about people wearing his clothes. It made his throat itch. No one should dress in someone else’s castoffs. Even if Harry was going to wear things in poor condition, it made him feel like he wasn’t taking care of the people around him when they did. He had since realized that gritting his teeth because someone borrowed his housecoat or cardigan was not typical for friends and especially not lovers. 

He had bought all his partners fairy silk robes and brand new Quidditch jerseys and woven shorts without holes in them. The ones when he was really trying: Ginny, Roger, Keltie, Francis, Quinn. He had talked around his quirks—a polite euphemism for the collection of habits and beliefs he had adopted to survive. Except now it was clear to everyone else he had survived, but Harry carried on as he might not.

In the end, these were the things that ruined every adult relationship he had. They said they understood, but inevitably, it hurt their feelings. Being an Auror had made it worse. And then he chose to be alone. He stopped trying.

Somehow, he didn’t mind someone in his clothes as much when it was Draco. It made him look less remote, less inaccessible. Draco looked like something he could have, Harry thought. And he looked away. So this was one of those universes. Or maybe he could admit it was also him now. 

“Are they ever going to leave Longbottom alone?” Draco held up the Prophet. MORE LIKE THE MAN WHO LIVED: LONGBOTTOM TOPLESS IN CORFU see page 3 for more details. Harry snorted. His Neville would hate that. 

“Was he supposed to wear a top on a beach on vacation?” Harry asked, watching Neville flick water off his hair in a loop. He had the lightning scar. It looked better on him.

“Listen to this. ‘An eye-popping display from our saviour.’ Then they zoom in on his crotch before saying he’s a ‘noted openly bisexual wizard’. He’s not special, we’re everywhere. I can’t tell if the tabloids are breathlessly horny or they despise him. ”

“Can’t it be both?” Harry said from experience. He noted Draco’s use of we. It seemed some things stayed constant. There was no Mark on Draco’s forearm at all. Huh. 

“How was your visit home?” Draco asked idly, flicking through the rest of the paper. 

“Dad was on again about living in London,” Harry said. With a surprisingly accurate impression of his father, Draco said, “But London is so expensive.” Harry laughed.

Returning to his normal voice, Draco said, “What are you holding in your hand?” 

Harry startled, having forgotten the headache potions. 

“I had a headache,” Harry said. 

“You live with a Healer.” Draco scoffed. “Did you eat there? Drink any water lately?”

“Yes, and yes,” Harry said. Then suddenly, Draco was directly in his space, peering at him, tilting Harry's chin down to his chest. Harry glimpsed his Firebird; still, cool and glowing an assertive pink. If this were his Draco, it would be red. But Draco was close nonetheless. This Draco was pressing his hands gently on both sides on the hinge of his jaw and neck. His hands were cool. 

“Congratulations, it’s not Wizarding or Muggle Meningitis,” Draco announced. 

“I didn’t think it was?” Harry answered. 

“Magical maladies specialist, remember? I wouldn’t be a very good flatmate if I didn’t at least check,” Draco said. “You should lie down.”

Harry agreed. He laid down in a bed similar to his own and turned back to his own world. He didn’t sleep. He laid awake and stared at the ceiling and thought about Draco Malfoy’s fingertips underneath his jaw. If he dreamt of deep dark caverns, he stopped fighting it. He would wake up soon. 


	9. ix. the quiet of trees

Harry knew what the patterns meant without going to his notes. He should have known where the Firebird would drop him next. 

_Still safe. I think I’m close. Wait for my letter before coming._

As soon as he landed in this universe, it felt different. He was at the Burrow. He automatically looked for George. Everyone worried about George nowadays at gatherings. He tended to drink too much every once in a while. It was a coin toss whether he’d be melancholy or mean. Since Angelina came into the picture, George had been better. But Harry still wasn’t out of the habit of looking for him. 

George was here. Fred was beside him. Harry found himself staring. In all his travels he had never felt the strangled hope in his chest as he had in this moment. They were together. 

“You can have a little to drink, babes. Maddy will be just fine with mum,” a pink-haired Tonks told Remus. They both looked older, but they were here too. 

“Are you feeling okay?” Draco asked him. His hand was resting on Harry’s thigh. Too high up to be friendly, too casual to be new. 

“I’m fine,” Harry said. He took a deep breath. His body felt a bit panicked, but he knew some of his memories were trapdoors. Sometimes he would catch a whiff of a sickening sweet perfume that reminded him of Umbridge and he would have to pause. Remind himself that she was long dead. Try not to choke on the memory. What was he remembering?

It disappointed him that it seemed like there were no universes where he wasn’t like this, perpetually caught up in some past. Draco was rubbing his shoulders to try to give him comfort. 

“Fleur, can you fetch a cold washcloth?” Draco called into the kitchen. He was peering into Harry’s eyes so intently. 

“You’re okay. It’s okay. I'm here,” Draco said over and over. 

Draco led him into the garden and took the washcloth from Fleur and pressed against the back of Harry’s neck. The cloth was just this side of freezing. He felt himself calm a little. He touched a hand to his forehead. It was a close universe, but the edge of his scar meant this wasn’t one of those strange ones where there had been no Voldemort. 

“Do you want to be alone for a second?” Harry nodded. 

He sat on a bench and listened to the idle chatter as it floated out. Fleur and Draco were speaking in rapid-fire French. He heard his name a few times, but nothing he could understand. He couldn’t explain it, but Draco sounded more certain of himself in French. If Fleur’s laughter was any sign, he was a lot funnier too.

Less than fifteen minutes passed before Draco came out again. Draco kissed him softly on the cheek.

“Are you feeling better?” Harry nodded. 

“Do you want to go home? Molly won’t mind,” Draco said. 

“No, I’m alright now,” Harry said.

He wandered back into the house, with Draco’s arm draped around his waist. He wanted to look at everyone he had lost, gathered together. He knew, _he knew_ it wasn’t his universe, but he wished it was. Draco left his side to continue talking with Fleur.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” a voice said. Harry saw the hand on his shoulder and for a second he froze. 

“Sirius,” Harry said. Harry squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again. 

His eyes filled with tears and he blinked them away hard. Sirius had silver threaded through his hair, but he was unmistakable. Without thinking, Harry went in for a hug. He held Sirius even past when it got strange and uncomfortable. 

“How are you?” Harry asked desperately. 

“I’m alright. Same as last week. Gods, I don’t know what you and your man get up to in that flat,” Sirius waggled his eyebrows. “Maybe try to go for some walks, eh? Get some fresh air. Both you and him have been a little strange lately.” 

Harry barely heard anything Sirius said. He just looked at him. Fuck, that twisted up everything in his chest. He understood for the first time why Draco had gone to such lengths. It was like the Mirror of the Erised but worse. He could feel this. He could hold this. 

“Draco, maybe you should take him home.”

“No,” Harry said firmly.

Harry decided to stay through the entire party, talking to everyone. He had never been such an interested conversationalist. It wasn’t strictly necessary to figure out what was going on, but he listened, intent.

“Maddy is nothing like Teddy. Went straight from sitting to walking as if she thought all that crawling business was undignified,” Tonks said. 

Tonks and Remus both complained about their work with Aurors and Hogwarts, respectively. 

Sirius regaled him with tales from long motorbike rides he had done along the Aegean Sea. Next summer Sirius was planning to do another road trip across Estonia. 

“I’m thinking of inviting Charlie,” Sirius said. Harry looked to where Charlie was helping his mum set out desserts. 

“Yeah?” Harry said. 

"Embarrassing at my age to have learned something new about myself," Sirius said, shaking his head. He was slightly pink around the tips of his ears. Ah. 

"It's never too late for love," Harry said. 

"You keep saying that," Sirius said. 

Hermione and Ron told him about their new shielding so they could have a telly and a laptop without lining the walls with lead. Fred and George offered to give him a tour of their new shop in Paris, which it seemed Draco had helped with. 

Every once in a while Harry looked for him and watched him. He nursed the one beer all night but otherwise looked at home here, among Harry’s family and friends. They wore no rings, but Draco knew what to do when he panicked. This couldn't be casual.

This Draco looked like Harry's Draco but good looking and smiley. 

Alright, so Harry wasn’t that oblivious. Draco was always good-looking. Harry could admit that much. 

In every other universe, something let him know something had changed either far before. Sometimes it was a matter of a setting or even his career choice. But no, the War had happened here. Harry could tell Draco still had the faint remnants of a Dark Mark on his forearm because he compulsively pulled his sleeves down over his left forearm, though the weather was warm out. 

“If you don’t want to share a camping bed again, we better head home,” Draco said. 

“One last shot?” Fred asked everyone. Harry declined. He still felt a little off-centre. 

"Take it easy, boys," Arthur said. “I don’t stock any hangover potion in this house,” Molly warned, as she bustled past. 

The Weasley children, Tonks, Sirius, Remus, Oliver and Lee gathered for the last drink. 

“Alright,” Draco agreed. Harry watched the line of his throat as he took the shot easily and then shuddered. 

"Burns differently in your forties," Remus said, sticking his tongue out in disgust. Tonks laughed, her face flushed red.

“You two make enough money to stop drinking this fucking swill,” Draco said to the twins. Draco shook his head, making a face. 

“Fred, it sounds like Draco has volunteered to bring the liquor next week,” George said, clapping Draco on the shoulder.

"Sounds like he will, George. Something refined for our pedestrian tastes," Fred said, mirroring George. 

“I’ll be sure to get you vinegar someone’s pissed in so you can both have something you’ll enjoy,” Draco shot back, shrugging their hands off. 

Harry tensed for an argument, but the twins laughed loudly. 

“Fuck off, Malfoy,” they said together. Draco was beaming, all toothy and real. The sight of it made Harry feel like his heart had flipped over.

“Get out and don’t come back until next week,” Lee added, smiling. 

“Ugh, Harry, take this one with you, would you?” Oliver said, gesturing at Draco.

Oliver’s arm was slung around Percy. Percy flushed with happiness, and maybe the liquor too. Oliver kissed Percy on the tip of his nose, which made his face turn even redder, but he didn’t move away. 

“Get a room,” Harry said. It wasn’t original, but he was still grinning when they whirled out of the Weasley fireplace to their flat. 

Draco didn’t let Harry look around to figure out what kind of flat they lived in together. Draco dragged him up the stairs and kissed him. Harry gave in to the feeling. After an evening like this one, it was hard to even think about what he should do. He wouldn’t let it get too far, but Draco’s mouth against his jaw was a revelation. He tasted faintly of anise, lemon and beer. 

He could live here happily, Harry thought.

“I want,” Draco said, fumbling with Harry’s shirt buttons and still pressing searing kisses to his mouth. 

“Yeah, okay,” Harry said. He shouldn’t have said that.

It hadn’t been so long that Harry didn’t know where this would go. It never just happened. A series of choices had led here. Small ones that added up. Harry shouldn’t go along with this. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he decided for someone else.

“Sorry. We should stop—I think we should...” Draco panted into his open mouth. His words were barely audible, caught on an inhale of breath. 

“Yeah,” Harry said. Draco dropped his hands to his sides. 

Harry went to do the same and his hand brushed against a familiar chain against the back of Draco’s neck. He paused. Draco had half unbuttoned Harry’s shirt, and he was looking at Harry’s chest.

Harry looked down at his own forgotten Firebird. It glowed a steady, bright crimson.


	10. x. the crackle of wildfires

“The entire day it was you,” Harry said. He didn’t see the point of pretending. He held up his Firebird to eye level. Draco would recognize it. He was smart enough to recognize the glow of a proximity spell. 

“How did you do it? I didn’t even think it was you,” Harry said when Draco reluctantly brought out his. It flickered oddly, casting eerie shadows around their bedroom. His Firebird looked rougher, with a tiny dial like a fine tuner on a violin. For the most part he was surprised, but a tiny hurt bloomed too. 

“I’ve always kept a diary. Since I was a child. I could read back and figure out who I was supposed to be,” Draco said. He folded in on himself as if he thought Harry was going to grab him. 

Harry went to touch him, to reassure him but Draco sank onto his knees and bowed his head. Draco was shaking. Harry didn’t know what to do. He just didn’t want him to run. Harry knelt next to him. He threaded his fingers in Draco’s hair. 

“Shush, it’s okay. I understand,” Harry said. “Come home and we’ll sort it.”

“Let me stay here. I’ll do anything,” Draco said. The pain woven into Draco’s voice was almost unbearable. Harry used his thumb to brush away some of the tears, but they kept coming. “I’m not alone here. I don’t want to leave.”

“But it’s not ours to live in, Draco. You know that.” If they remembered that, they couldn’t continue. Harry understood more than anyone else could, but they had stolen seconds, minutes and hours from themselves in these worlds. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t a good thing. And Harry felt that deeply, even if he wanted to stay here too. 

“I won’t take you in, okay? Return with me, once. I’ll give you one of the Firebirds now. I just want to talk as ourselves,” Harry said. Draco cocked his head to one side like he was trying to figure out if Harry was lying, and if it mattered. Harry took off the spare Firebird and handed it to him, their hands brushing as he passed it. He was still kneeling too close to Draco.

“Please. Meet me at my house,” Harry said. He whispered the address in Draco’s ear and stood.

“Okay,” Draco said. 

Draco watched him the whole time Harry turned the wing.

Harry returned to himself slumped over the kitchen table. His back ached a little. He was mentally exhausted, although on the whole his body felt fine. He stood up and drank three glasses of water and finally stopped himself from shaking. It was over. He felt both wrung out and renewed.

It was his Draco that knocked when the door swung open. He looked different. He looked different from any other version of him. He was still a little underfed, a little haunted. It was as if Draco expected him to tell him to go home. Wand out, like there might be someone lurking in the shadows waiting to pounce. 

“It’s only me. Come in,” Harry said. He opened the door wider to let Draco step in. He looked around the house cautiously. The burnt carbon scent of apparition clung to Draco. His shoes were unlaced when he toed them off in the entryway. 

Draco needn’t have bothered, but Harry didn’t want to startle him.

Harry led him to the sitting room and sat down beside him on the loveseat, facing him. 

“I want to stay there,” Draco said. He was resolute. No sign of the Draco who had knelt in front of him and wept remained.

"Okay. If that's what you really want," Harry said. 

His working theory, considering the last universe, was that Draco didn’t want to stay out there or he would have stopped jumping at the first halfway decent universe and tossed his Firebird off a cliff or under a bus. Harry would have never found him. 

"You're not going to stop me?" Draco said incredulously. 

"I am going to try to convince you," Harry said. 

"You are always so sentimental." Draco paused. Perhaps he wasn't sure that remark would be received well. Harry didn't mind. They sat. 

“You’re a brilliant researcher and you worked on this project for years. Why would you just throw it all away?”

Draco hesitated before answering.

“In Mysteries, most of us have a personal stake in our research. Otherwise, it’s hard to sustain that level of study for as long as it takes when you spend most of your time failing. The magic is powerful and you get a small taste. And I’ve never—I’ve never been good with temptation.” Draco trailed off. “Did you go looking for me?” Harry asked, softly. It seemed like breaking the stillness of this moment should be more reverent. It felt like he should have more to say than a foolish hope.

“I wasn’t looking for _you_ ,” Draco said, his tone sharp and hostile. He ducked his head immediately after as if he had got out the habit of responding meanly and didn’t know what to do with himself. 

When Harry had known him, Draco had been a kid. That was the problem in the end, wasn't it? They'd all been children, they had made mistakes and then it had shaped their whole lives indiscriminately. They followed paths someone had set from them and ended here. Draco wasn’t a spoiled rich boy or a criminal mastermind. He just seemed like a very tired man who had backed himself into a corner. 

“What were you looking for?” Harry prodded. 

“First, I wanted to see who else I could have become,” Draco said. “Then it was...I don’t think you’d understand. It was only Theo left. Everyone else I knew has left or died. I was tired of being alone.”

There was something about the tilt of his neck that beckoned Harry’s hand, and Harry rested his hand on his cheek. He was taking liberties. But Draco leaned into the touch. He looked at once content and desperate to not have it snatched away. 

“Did you find what you wanted?” Harry said. 

He was carefully running a thumb along Draco’s cheek and watching that wash of colour settle. He felt the same as he had in the last few universes. This wasn’t just his other selves. If anything, the feeling was stronger now he was back in his own life. 

“You’ll have to tell me,” Draco said, quietly.

There was only one thing to answer that. Harry moved slowly to allow Draco to complain, to turn his face away, to bolt and say something faintly ridiculous like ‘you’ve mistaken this entirely’ in that curt way he had. 

But Draco didn’t. His face softened, looking sweet and vulnerable in a way Harry hadn’t seen in any universe. And he kissed him. It was more passion than finesse, Draco’s mouth hot beneath his. Harry wanted to remind him he was kissing him in his own body. 

“Nothing that might have happened there counts here. The other universes aren’t real,” Draco said, pulling away. 

“Of course they are real,” Harry said. 

“You know what I mean. Don’t be fucking daft,” Draco said. 

Harry wanted to kiss that expression off his face but sat back. Draco was already in his home, no need to crowd him further. 

“I know the difference between our reality and those other ones. I know you are not them,” Harry said. 

“Do you?” Draco asked. 

“Yes. For one, I came back regularly. Two, because you know I avoided intimacy with them, even if it would have made sense.” Here Harry leaned in and kissed Draco’s throat. Draco let out a little huffy breath. 

“I’m doing this because we’re _here._ ”

“What about the Ministry?” Draco leaned into the touches even as he continued to deploy an under-used and ill-sharpened defensiveness. 

“I don’t work for them, now do I?” Harry said. 

As far as Harry was concerned, the Ministry could go to blazes. Harry didn’t give a damn about their property and he’d just as soon destroy the Firebirds the same as give them back. He could admit he’d gone looking for Draco. 

“Hermione is your friend, and I can’t hide in your home forever,” Draco said. It seemed a token protest. Harry loved Hermione, but he made his own decisions. 

“I think I can make it so you’ll be okay. They want to keep this quiet. You’re safe,” Harry whispered.

Harry reached around his neck and took off his Firebird and put it on the desk. He also showed Draco his empty wand holster, rolling up his sleeves. Harry took off his glasses too; Draco must know by now he couldn’t see much without them. 

“If you want the Firebirds, I’ll let you have both and tell them I woke up here without them,” Harry said. It was a gamble. Draco could disappear back into the universes. He was betting on something that he wasn't sure of. 

“I wasn’t as moral as you,” Draco said finally. He added his Firebird to the pile. It took Harry off-guard. He expected negotiations, pleas, and perhaps a hex.

“What do you mean by that?” Harry asked. Draco licked his lips nervously. 

“I told one Harry who I was. One who was an Unspeakable.” 

“Paris?” Harry asked. 

“Paris was not the only world you were an Unspeakable,” Draco said. 

"What happened?" Harry asked. 

"He thought it was amusing. He kissed me and sent me on my way," Draco said. 

Maybe it should have given him more pause, caused him more grief. Harry wanted to know more. But if what Harry had done counted, then that Harry was part of their history of interactions too. He had searched for Draco because he had wanted him. 

“Was he like me?” said Harry. Draco shook his head no but didn’t elaborate. 

“Then at least let me give you a point of comparison,” Harry said. 

Harry kissed him again, but this time more hungrily. He had a hazy plan forming. First, he was going to taste Draco’s mouth until he’d memorized it. Then he would kiss every part of his body he could reach. They would do nothing else until Draco was panting. The emotional part of this was hard to untangle, but lust Harry could solve.

Draco interrupted these thoughts. 

“Can we just kiss?” Draco said. He sounded nervous. “I would like to wait before anything else.” 

It made sense. This was different here. Draco looked like _that_ , all grace and easy athleticism, but he had kept to himself as an adult. They were both alone a lot. Maybe Draco had always been alone, and he was new to all of this. 

“Yes,” Harry said. He resumed kissing but angled his hips away, kept his mouth soft and undemanding. Surprise took him when Draco was the one to lick into his mouth until he gasped. So, this would be complicated too. 

“I didn’t say I'm an innocent, Harry,” Draco said in between bites to the column of his neck. The biting and his voice were making Harry feel shivery, out of control and good. “It’s a lot right now. I’ve been out of this body for months. Doesn’t feel right.”

They sat and resumed kissing until Harry’s leg fell asleep and he nearly fell off the couch. 

“Food and then bed,” Harry said. Draco stood first. 

Harry shuffled after Draco reluctantly. He looked with satisfaction at the stubble burn on Draco’s throat, some blooming marks there and his bee-stung lips. Draco watched the stove and Harry watched Draco and they ate some unlabelled tin of soup before heading upstairs. The house produced a loaf of bread and butter to match.

“I’ve got guest bedrooms if you’d like,” Harry said. Draco took off his shirt and trousers unceremoniously in Harry’s bedroom. The room felt hotter and smaller than it had just seconds ago.

“I think not,” Draco said. 

Harry was not a teenager. He could share a bed. He could avert his eyes. He shucked off his clothing and let Draco rearrange the covers. He stared at the ceiling for a bit after he extinguished his lamp with his retrieved wand. He was lying in bed with Draco Malfoy. 

“Go to bed,” Draco grumbled. Harry turned on his side. Draco slipped an arm around his waist and kissed the back of his neck so lightly Harry felt as though he might have imagined it.


	11. xi. there is no one

Harry finally slept well. No more half-jumbled, too-vivid dreams. When he awoke, Draco was gone. Harry’s heart raced until he heard the clanging of pots and pans downstairs.

“I assume if it’s in your house, you’ll eat it.”

“I... don’t live here most of the time?” Harry informed him. Draco looked puzzled.

“I work at Hogwarts,” Harry explained. 

“I know that. It’s just—” Draco said. Then he paused for a long moment. “The house is dated. But it’s nice. Good location.” 

The way he said it made him look around again. The house wasn’t so terrible once he had returned every night. It had itself shuffled to accommodate his likes and dislikes now. There were more windows, more light. He knew magical houses could be like that, but it was another thing to experience it. 

“Eat up, darling,” Draco said. 

Even though the endearment was half-mocking, something warm and steady sparked in his chest. Harry watched him once again. 

After breakfast, they did more kissing until Harry wasn't sure if it was lack of air or a sudden rush of blood south that made him dizzy. 

Harry coughed. 

"I have to take care of something," Harry said. His voice was lower than usual, still sleep rough. 

The scrape of the kitchen chair was deafening. Harry barely stepped under the spray of the shower before closing his eyes and imagining Draco joining him. He didn’t get much beyond more kissing in his fantasy before he came with one hand braced on shower’s tile wall. 

While he was already here it seemed like a good time to shower, so he did that distractedly and shaved for good measure. 

“I didn’t say that you couldn’t do anything,” Draco said. He sounded a little disappointed as if he’d expected Harry to bring himself off in front of him. Harry had some self-control, but not a lot. There was a line of thought that would go nowhere helpful.

“You said only kissing. I’ll wait until you’re comfortable with more,” Harry said firmly. Even he felt slight disorientation in his body, and he had been returning here to eat and sleep. He can’t imagine how much worse Draco must feel. Draco wasn’t sleeping well and sometimes Harry awoke in the middle of the night to feel Draco awake and staring at the ceiling. 

“Nightmares?” Harry said.

“Something like that,” Draco said.

“Do you want Dreamless Sleep?” 

Draco refused. It wasn’t until hours later when Harry awoke to him flailing that he said, “I won’t take a full dose.”

But a reluctant half dose didn’t even touch Draco’s nightmares. 

“Give us a light, will you?” Harry asked one day while he searched Sirius’ hall closet for the key to the garden. 

Draco cast and the light flickered. He frowned at his wand and tried again. This time it was so bright, Harry had to shield his eyes with one hand. 

“Sorry,” said Draco. 

“It’s fine,” Harry said. The key to the garden turned up in the kitchen on a hook that Harry didn’t think he’d seen before. But it worried him and he kept an eye on Draco. Draco was avoiding using his wand, Harry was certain. 

They fell into an intimacy that felt so natural Harry didn’t want to question it. Draco brushed a smear of toothpaste off Harry’s face, napped on his shoulder and put his cold feet in Harry’s lap while he read dusty tomes from the library. 

“Your hair is curly when it’s long,” Draco said one day. 

Harry hadn't exactly had time to go for a haircut, and he let Draco wrap a curl around his index finger while they sat on the couch. 

“Do you want me to cut it?” Harry asked. 

“No,” Draco said too fast. Harry let him have that too, winding his long fingers in Harry’s hair absentmindedly.

Sometimes Harry got it in his head to ask questions though he could tell they pained Draco to answer. But it was a way to fill the morning, afternoons and evenings besides long walks in Muggle London. There was both too much time with nothing to do, and too little as the clock ticked closer and closer to August 15. 

“What was your favourite universe?” Harry asked.

“The last one. It felt too strange to be in universes where there wasn’t a War or where I was too different,” Draco said. 

“Were you happy to see your parents?” Harry asked. He was curious if it had been the same mix of relief and deep sadness Harry had felt when their passing was more recent. 

“I was. They were annoying, you know?” Here Draco smiled faintly at the memory. “I had forgotten how annoying they could be. Constantly hovering, asking for an update on everything I did or ate. If I didn’t write every other day, my father would write a dramatic letter. My mother asked a lot of prying questions about how I meant to get heirs of my body to satisfy their last will and testament when she wasn’t asking about restoring the Malfoy name.” Here he laughed, recalling their exact words. “They were absolutely terrible but I missed them. It made it easier to think that I could let them go,” Draco said.

“Do you still want to go back?” Harry asked. He was afraid of the answer to this question. 

“I don’t know,” Draco said truthfully. 

Other times, Harry asked questions late at night, when they lay awake in bed together, unable to sleep. They faced each other, whispering in the dark. 

“What were your Patronuses?”

Draco was lost in thought and his voice came slow and faint. 

“I think in Egypt it was a phoenix. Some swans and peacocks. Very bird-heavy now that I think about it. I think it was a badger in the Regency world. I couldn’t produce one in many worlds, but I never stayed long in any world like that.”

Harry shouldn’t push as he’d already asked an incredibly personal question. 

“Was it ever a stag?” Harry asked quietly. 

“A few times. It was...it was one of the arguments that I had when I was married to Hermione. It made her feel left out. It was because you were the one that taught me,” Draco said. 

Harry didn’t say that it wouldn’t have mattered who taught him. He had taught Hermione after all. He wanted to keep that part to himself. A small sign some of this had been real elsewhere and meant something. 

“What about here?”

Draco’s face shuttered. Any hint of emotion was carefully erased.

“I’ve never been able to produce a corporeal Patronus here,” Draco said.

Harry didn’t know what to say to that, so he kissed him until Draco relaxed, breathing evenly. 

Harry was still afraid Draco might decide he could never be happy here and leave in the night with the Firebirds. Harry had left them on the kitchen table, all three tangled together. It was almost a defiant thing, leaving it out in the open. But Harry was not Draco’s jailer, and he could leave at any time. Either with a Firebird or by walking straight out the front door. 

“We should send Maddy a birthday present soon. I should owl Fleur about that toymaker cousin of hers,” Draco said, one morning when the house offered them a wheel of brie. Harry froze while Draco busied himself cutting a triangle of the cheese onto some crusty bread. 

“We can’t,” Harry whispered.

“Children should be spoiled, Harry.” Draco continued, oblivious. Harry put his hand over Draco’s right at the kitchen table. 

“You’ve never met Fleur and Maddy isn’t here,” Harry told him. Draco’s eyes widened a touch and then his face shuttered. 

“I knew that. I should go read,” Draco said, taking his food and orange juice on a tray. Harry didn’t stop him. He left him alone in the Black family library all day. 

It was later that night Harry awoke to hear a strangled noise coming from Draco. His head tossed from side to side. Harry poked him to no effect, so he leaned over Draco and shook him gently. He felt feverish. Draco’s eyes were wild and unseeing when they opened. 

“You’re okay. It’s okay,” Harry said. But Draco didn’t seem to calm. 

“Where am I?” Draco asked in a hoarse whisper. 

“You’re in Grimmauld Place, at my house. It’s okay,” Harry said. 

Harry stroked some of the sweaty white-blond strands that had plastered itself to his face. Draco sat up and took off his shirt and stared at his torso. In the dim light, there were very faint silvery scars criss crossing his chest as Harry had imagined. Harry knew what he had done. Still, it was a punch to the gut. Draco also held out his forearms to look at and then sighed.

“I couldn’t tell...I couldn’t tell...” Draco’s voice wavered then died. Draco was taking shallow panicked breaths. Harry moved one hand to his back.

“What is it?” Harry whispered.

“I couldn’t tell what was real.”

That morning it seemed like they had shattered the illusion they could hole up in Harry’s house together. There was something wrong and it was beyond them to fix. Harry was beginning to worry that it would ultimately hurt Draco even if he didn't want to give this up. Draco agreed to have Harry contact Hermione. 

Hermione arrived in short order. She looked at Harry then Draco and back again. Harry was making a point of not looking at Draco. Draco was looking at him and barely at Hermione. 

“When did...?” Hermione shook her head. “You know what? I don’t want to know.”

Harry handed over the three Firebirds, chains tangled together. Draco’s malfunctioning one was dented, light flickering at its core erratically. It made Harry nervous to look at. Draco could have so easily been trapped in one of the worse universes with no way to get home. 

“Those are yours,” Harry said. 

“Draco should come in for questioning—”

Harry finally looked at Draco. At his almost imperceptible trembling. He was scared. Harry shifted so he stood slightly in front of him. Her wand was drawn and by her side. Harry’s wand was in the holster in his waistband, but if he had to reach for it, Harry was still quicker on the draw. 

“No. You interview him here for whatever information you need.” Harry said more firmly. 

“For God’s sake, Harry, I’m not going to take him in for waterboarding,” Hermione said, putting her wand away as she rolled her eyes. She turned to Draco. 

“Malfoy, you’re not getting off scot-free, but you do now have more information than the rest of the department on this project so I’d like you to share it.”

“Or else?” Malfoy asked. 

“Or else I have to figure out how to charge you and get the incompetent fuckers in the Auror department involved. Sorry Harry,” Hermione added as an afterthought. 

“I’m not Auror anymore,” Harry said, to no effect. 

“There’s no need for all of that if you cooperate. I don’t want to arrest you and the Minister doesn’t want this public. The information is more important anyway,” Hermione said. 

“I could share the information I’ve learned about mechanics. Nothing private,” Draco said. 

Draco still looked at her warily. Hermione employed a soothing tone that suggested she could have been sorted into Slytherin. 

“In fact, as Department Head, the other day I found a form where I’d authorized your mission." 

"You must have misfiled it," Draco said. The three of them knew what she was saying. 

"At worst, on paper, you’re currently guilty of not filing some reports and mild insubordination. No one knows,” Hermione said. 

“I do not know whether I’m thankful or deeply regret becoming an Unspeakable,” Draco said finally. 

“You could quit,” Harry told him. Draco wasn’t the type, too loyal, but Harry could put the idea in his head. 

“You two know whatever happened over there is not here, right?” Hermione said. 

“I’ve told him that,” Draco said as Harry replied, “I fucking know it isn’t.”

Hermione and Draco spoke privately in the front room for a long hour. When Hermione left, Draco seemed to have realized something. His face was stony, remote. 

“I think we got confused because of what happened over there,” Draco said. “Did you see how it was with Hermione?”

“I’m not _confused_ ,” Harry said. “I know what I want.” He felt sick at the idea that all of this could be summed up as confusion. It wasn’t a matter of picking up the wrong brand of toothpaste.

“I need to—you don’t know me,” Draco said. Harry knew he was trying to be reasonable. “I don’t know you. We bonded over an experience no one else has. Think about this for a second.”

“You don’t think that,” Harry said.

“You don’t know what I think either,” Draco said. His jaw had set stubbornly. 

“Fine, then. Let me get to know you. Come to bed, we’ll talk in the morning,” Harry said. Draco looked so tired all of the sudden. He was still dressed up in Harry’s Quidditch joggers that were too short and a plain t-shirt Harry had lying around. 

“I don’t think I should,” Draco said. Harry stood in the same spot as Draco picked up his wand from the kitchen. “I’m sorry.”


	12. xii. but you and i

With a few days left, there was no point in going back to the cottage. It was too much for Harry’s heart to trip over Draco’s inexplicably placed water glasses, to turn to ask Draco a question when he wasn’t there and to see the house offering him minor comforts.

He wrote, of course. Draco didn’t reply.

Harry asked Hermione about the other universes in a roundabout way because otherwise, she pursed her lips in that unhappy way of hers. She didn’t want him to dwell, Harry thought. But it was impossible not to dwell.

He would pick up a glass of water and think about whether he had split the universe with such a tiny choice.

“Is Godric’s Hollow the first Black Wizarding community?” Harry asked.

“You didn’t know?” Hermione said. Harry shook his head no. “If you’re interested, I have a book you could read.”

What he liked best about Hermione was that she knew so much, but she never hesitated to share. She never made him feel foolish for not knowing something these days.

Draco might have, Harry thought suddenly.

“Thanks. I would like that,” Harry said.

“Sometimes I think they didn’t bother teaching us anything important about ourselves.”

It was a gentle remark from her as if she had sensed the significance of him asking. They talked about what it had been like for Harry, the only biracial kid in his school in Surrey. Incidents as an adult, too. Hermione knew. She had plenty of her own stories. How shocked she had been to come to the wizarding world and find out there was yet another thing she couldn't help that people despised her for. The way people sometimes spoke loud and slow or played guessing games about where they thought they might be from. Trouble was that Harry had wanted so desperately to know where he was from. Here was one more piece.

When the subject turned to Draco, she just said, “It’s for the best, Harry. His experience was different from yours.”

It didn’t feel like it was for the best.

“Tell me how he’s doing.”

Her eyes flashed. Hermione did not like that tone of voice at all. Harry was out of practice anyway, as most of his interrogations these days involved fifth years misusing empty classrooms and silly pranks.

“I shouldn’t be telling you anything,” Hermione muttered, her voice flinty. “If I’d known you’d be so bloody obsessed with him—”

Harry didn’t bother denying the charge. He had given up on pretending he wasn’t fixated on Draco Malfoy and should have long ago. It was freeing. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Knew Draco Malfoy Was Up To Something.

“Too late for regrets. Please. Is he alright or not?”

“He will be, okay? We’re running tests about what kind of magical damage Draco might have done and on what happened to his magic. Any other details, he will tell you himself if he wants to.”

"Should I be worried about that?" Harry asked.

"No. You came back regularly, which displaced small, manageable amounts of magical energy. That was the dreams. He displaced a great deal of magical energy and shunted it into our timeline in one go and nearly killed himself doing it. We hadn't known because it was mostly theoretical and no one had ever gone for longer than an hour before this."

"That's all I can tell you so stop asking before I accidentally invoke the Departmental Geas."

She looked tired, Harry finally noticed. Her eyes were unfocused even as she looked at him. She had put two espresso shots in her latte and she had the cinnamon and peppermint breath of someone who had been regularly dosing themselves with Pepper-Up.

"I know the hours are long, but make sure you're resting," Harry said.

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” Hermione said breezily. Harry glared at her.

“Hermione, you can’t take care of everything else and not yourself. You’ll burn out. You saw what happened to me when I burnt out. Get some sleep.”

Hermione finally conceded.

“It’s been such a mess. I feel like I have to do everything. There are such wonderful, terrible things in the world to study. But sometimes I think I've inherited the department that attracts the smartest people because they are the most desperate.”

Ron took him out for a drink to let Hermione take a nap in their empty flat after work. It turned into four or seven drinks. First, they circled around the usual topics: work, Quidditch, where each Weasley was.

Since he was the only person besides Hermione who knew what he was going through, a hastily cast Muffliato in a private enclave of the Rose & Dagger was all he needed to confess the part he'd left out of his discussion with her.

“If you ever say another sentence to me with the words “dead sexy” and “Draco Malfoy” in it I’ll have you committed,” Ron said, after listening to Harry’s directionless ramble.

“Not your type?” Harry joked. Because Ron was a good sport, he thought about it and made a face.

“Not even if I liked men. Was he even your type before you disappeared on this mission?” Ron said.

“No,” Harry admitted.

“Everything about this is bizarre. You fancy him, but that’s different from deciding...I don’t know what you’ve decided, but you’re always intense about it,” Ron said.

“I want to see where it goes,” Harry said.

“And I’m Albus fucking Dumbledore,” Ron said. “If you know each other so well, he must know you’re not really into half-measures.”

Harry knew he should have been at least counting the shots.

“Just imagine you lived all these lives with someone. You saw so many possibilities of how you could be together and they were looking for you, and you were looking for them. And they rejected all of that.”

“Look, didn’t he pick the worlds? It sounds like he picked all these places where he was the best possible version of himself,” Ron said.

“And?” Harry said.

“Seeing the best of him isn’t the same thing as seeing someone. He’s made different choices here. Maybe he’s worried about what you will think of him?”

Harry contemplated the bottom of his pint glass and the question.

“Maybe,” Harry said. Ron shook his head once as he realized he was giving him relationship advice about Draco.

“That’s enough for you. You’re brooding and the barman’s looking at you like you might glass someone.”

“You think Malfoy would visit me at St Mungo’s if someone glassed me?” Harry joked, contemplative.

“Absolutely not. Let’s get you home. You’re a menace.”

Harry shut up Grimmauld once again, but this time a little sadly. With another person, he had enjoyed being there for once. It hadn’t seemed so empty, dark and sad. But with no one to share it with, he didn’t think he would return as often. Not while he still felt all tangled up.

He sent one last letter, and it was the most pathetic yet. He almost didn’t send it. It said:

_I would still like to get to know you here._

He returned to Hogwarts and threw himself into work. He sponsored the Duelling Club, started tryouts early, and tried to fly more often. He cut his hair short. He slept badly. He would fall asleep in the middle of his bed and wake up curled on his side. He had slept alone most of his adult life, and a few weeks had him grasping at empty sheets in the middle of the night.

Worse still was being awake and remembering. One late night, Harry had pinned Draco against the kitchen counter and kissed him until Draco had been the one to tap out for once. Harry rolled the wooden beads on his bracelet. But this wasn’t that kind of memory.

It was late October before he got a note back with a time and place at dinner. The note wasn’t even signed. Harry thought about binning it and refusing to go. He thought about conjuring the ghost of all the anger and hurt and letting it harden him.

But he couldn’t. When he arrived at the Three Broomsticks on Friday evening, Draco was already there, not touching his drink. It felt like greeting an ex-husband even though arguably nothing tied them together but a mad dash through a dozen universes, a schoolboy rivalry, a few kisses, and a handful of confidences. They sat in the front room, even though there were more private rooms.

“I think the lager here gets worse every time I drink it,” Harry said, making a face. It was such a useless remark, meant to put Draco at ease. Draco smiled. It was brief but real.

“First, they came for coffee shops, now they’re turning every pub in this country into a microbrewery calibrated to the tastes of a medieval peasant,” Draco said.

There was a time Harry would have heard the disdain more than the joke. Draco offered him a small, almost imperceptible wink. Harry grinned.

“The Department has cleared me,” Draco said conversationally after a long pause.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Harry said evenly. “And you’re alright?”

“Yeah, yeah. Better.”

He certainly looked better than he had those first weeks back. More colour in his cheeks. A little more filled out. His appeal hadn’t dimmed in the slightest, though. Only the thought Draco might bolt that stopped Harry from interrogating him the way he wanted to. So he answered Draco’s careful questions about Hogwarts.

“And your work?” Harry asked politely. He knew from Hermione there wasn’t much he could say, so he wasn’t surprised at Draco’s shrug.

“We opened an investigation on Theodore because I found a clue when I was away,” Draco said. It startled Harry.

“Really?” Harry said, so loudly that someone from another table looked over. Harry lowered his voice. “What do you mean?”

“I didn’t realize it at the time, but the fact I never saw Theo on my travels means a lot of things.”

As much as Harry was glad this had amounted to something potentially helpful, they were skirting around what Harry wanted to speak about.

“Why didn’t you stay?” Harry asked finally. “I wasn’t confused.”

Draco heaved a deep, long sigh.

“It was different for you, but I was confused. I don’t think you understand how long I’d been _there._ Having you made it harder to remember.”

“Is that still the case?” Harry asked. He wished that Draco had just said that instead of claiming they knew nothing about each other. Without a question, Harry would stay away if it was important for Draco’s wellbeing.

“No. Not anymore. I’m okay now,” Draco said. His hand was flat on the tabletop and Harry was seized with the urge to put his hand over his, like they had at breakfasts before. In some ways, all that time Grimmauld had been a liminal space, its own universe.

“This can be real if you want it to be,” Harry said instead.

“I want it to be,” Draco said. “It’s not that simple.”

It is, Harry wanted to say. Simple’s got nothing to do with it. It’s worth it. I want you to choose. Was it the same for you or was it just me?

“I can wait,” Harry said. He could be patient for this.

They dropped the subject, but Draco let Harry walk him to the apparition point. Draco pressed his lips to Harry’s too quick for him to react, too quick for Harry to pull him closer.

They met once a week, sometimes bringing a friend or two as a buffer. It brought out different sides of their personalities. Draco became very quiet around Luna and Neville while Harry became more relaxed. During Blaise and Pansy's visit to England, Harry was the quiet one, and Draco’s sense of humour turned vicious. He wasn’t convinced they were friends, but they knew him in a way Harry never would. Around Ron and Hermione Draco seemed more like himself, but even that was tempered with a strange tension—after all, Hermione was his boss.

“Have I passed?” Draco said after they left. Harry didn’t always go back to the castle now since his weekends were his own unless he had night duty or practice. Sometimes he escorted Draco to his flat and then walked to Grimmauld.

“Passed what?” Harry said, irritably. He had let Draco side-along him to a farther apparition point since the weather was still nice enough to walk.

“Whatever test you’ve set for me,” Draco said. He was holding his arms tight to his body and walking fast. Harry took longer strides, trying to catch up. Draco must be part gazelle or something.

“I’m not testing you,” Harry said. “Why would I be testing you?”

“Isn’t that the reason for all this? Aren’t you getting to know me?” Draco said.

Harry already knew Draco. He liked it all. He liked it when Draco was funny, even if it tipped a little into meanness. He enjoyed his silence, too. It felt real. He had never required Draco to become a gentle, tameable thing. He just wanted to be allowed to express how much he’d grown to like him without pretending everything that had come before never happened.

“What’s the matter with you?” Harry shot back. “You’re the one who asked for this.”

They were standing in front of the block of flats where Harry had left him every single time before.

“Until when?” Draco asked.

Harry gave him a long, considering look. He had tried at least to make this on Draco’s terms and not his. So Harry had seen him every weekend for three months and gave him a chaste kiss on his doorstep. He waited for Draco to tell Harry he could get close again or to even come into his building past the main door. He had given him time and space when both were making him feel ridiculous because he already knew.

Draco leaned his front step’s handrail, face flushed with some emotion Harry didn’t recognize.

“That’s up to you,” Harry said. Harry would give him a single point in all this, which is once Draco understood, all bets were off. Draco firmly grabbed the lapels of Harry’s jacket and pulled him closer. Draco’s slate-grey eyes were boring into Harry’s.

“Do you mean to tell me that despite having universes worth of evidence that I’m never brave, you’ve been waiting for me to make the first move?”

Draco side-alonged him directly into his living room with no warning. As a former Ministry official, Harry should have said something about the fact Draco had Apparated from a fully lit set of stairs in a mixed Wizard/Muggle neighbourhood. But he was more intent on the fact that Draco loomed closer in his field of vision.

“I didn’t know if you wanted me to,” Harry said in a hushed voice.

When their lips touched at long last, there was none of the restraint that characterized any of their earlier kisses. The kiss was deep, rough and so good Harry almost forgot his own name. Draco made it known that he wanted Harry. He trapped Harry against a wall of the room, making sure there was no space between their bodies.

“You’re the one who said it wasn’t real,” Harry said when Draco pulled away.

Harry stumbled sideways over a water glass and he didn’t even have it in him to be more annoyed. Draco Vanished the water and the cup too. Harry sat on a tufted emerald green velvet couch that had swans carved into the legs. He had seen that chair before.

“That was possible. This is real,” Draco said.

“What else is possible?” Harry asked. He had half reclined and it seemed only manners had prevented Draco from clambering onto his lap. He got one heated look for his trouble.

“Someone engineered you in a lab to drive me spare,” Draco said. “Bed. Now.”

His hands shook when he reached for Draco in that dark bedroom. It was ordinary and small, no velvet or green or opulent four-poster as Harry had imagined. It was a plain, neat white room, grey sheets on his bed, a book left on the dresser. Harry was suddenly nervous. Maybe waiting had made him too tentative. He tried to remember how this went with someone new, pressed up against Draco, tasting his mouth.

Harry was deciding how he could ask what was okay. He was trying to prove that they could be good together and here he was, fucking it all up. He wanted too much. The trembling continued as he tried to be careful. Draco would not appreciate him ripping the buttons off his shirt.

“Harry?” Draco said beside Harry’s ear, warm and intimate.

“Mmm?” said Harry.

“I was thinking that there are universes where we’ve done this before.” Draco offered him a small private smile.

They went much, much slower after that as if Draco’s words had tamped down the urgency but left behind the tenderness. There was nothing as sweet as watching Draco close his eyes as he came apart underneath his hands. Or afterward, when Draco turned his attention to him, all his slyness put to good use when Draco pulled Harry to the edge of the bed and sank to his knees.

“What if it doesn’t work out in this one? What if we’re too different?” Draco said, sometime after the first month they lived together in Hogsmeade.

Their flat was a rental despite Draco’s complaints it wasn’t cost-effective; Harry had the money and could have forty homes if he wished. It wasn’t like there was a shortage of wizarding homes when you could live in Stornoway and Floo into London for work if you wanted.

“We’re not. It’s a choice,” Harry said. He could sense the tenseness in the air, an argument that had been coming for days now.

“You’re going to tell me that you suddenly understand the arithmancy underpinning parallel universes? We can’t map the universe we live in. We don't know the future. You don’t know that,” Draco said.

“No, you don’t understand. I’m not talking about arithmancy." Harry hesitated then decided to go ahead.

"Remember the Ball with Hermione? How did that Draco feel about me? Differently? Did he loathe me?”

“No. He was...” Draco licked his lips nervously. “He was very much in love with Harry, but hadn’t realized it was reciprocal until it was too late.”

Harry forgot sometimes it would have been so much more time for Draco. Days maybe, weeks. He seemed to have spent more time lingering, revisiting, recircling worlds. Harry didn’t often ask these days, but Draco knew more about their other lives and had felt them deeply.

“In other universes, he could break it off with Hermione. He could cheat on her. Harry could have stopped the wedding.”

“That was nothing special. He...loved her was the problem. She understood. It was mostly crushing guilt and confusion,” Draco said. "He had never considered..."

“He made a choice,” Harry said. “I’m making a choice here. My choice is you. For as long as you'll have me.”

“Okay,” Draco said. Harry could see him accepting even if he wanted to argue.

They found Theodore Nott some months later. Harry didn’t understand the details at all because it was both way beyond his scholarly inclinations and above his security clearance.

“Simply put: Theo managed to slip out of every reality, and that’s very bad. And he needs to come back here and he’s stuck right now,” Hermione had tried explaining. “We have to go get him soon when the time is right.”

It was near midnight in the late summer when the time came. A Ministry bell clanged in their living room loudly enough to wake them both in bed. Harry wasn’t in the habit of questioning Draco about his work at all, but as he watched Draco pick up various things around their shared house, he could feel sharp twinges of anxiety in his chest.

“Does it have to be you that gets him?” Harry asked.

“It’s either me, you or a seventy-four year old witch named Geraldine from Lancashire as far as perfect travellers,” Draco said. His joking tone was probably to set Harry at ease but it had the opposite effect. Draco read Harry’s expression when he came back into their bedroom.

Draco sighed. “Theo won’t come back with anyone else.”

“Is it the same as when...” Harry trailed off.

“Yes and no. He used a Time Turner too. But it’s not dangerous,” Draco reassured him. Harry shot him a disbelieving look.

“Alright, it _is_ dangerous. But I’ll be back soon. It’s not a search and rescue, we know exactly where he is.” The Ministry bell clanged once again. “Yes, yes, I’m coming!”

“You’ll come back then?” Harry still worried sometimes, with Draco working on the Firebirds. Their relationship was new enough that Harry worried if this was enough to compete with all that was out there and everything he studied. “You won’t stay too long?”

“I’ll be back. Of course, I’ll be back,” Draco said, leaning down to give him a peck. His eyes searched Harry’s face. “I...I wouldn’t stay out there, you know. I don’t think I could.”

The bell clanged a third time and Draco disappeared into the Floo.

Harry, despite himself, sat up by the fireplace and waited. Harry would have sworn he stayed awake but he drifted between sleep and wakefulness until he startled. He was being levitated back to the bedroom, against Draco’s chest. When Draco noticed Harry had awoken, he smiled and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead.

“Told you I would be back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Kudos and comments are always appreciated. Tell me your favourite universe.  
> [Tumblr](https://skeptiquewrites.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> Detailed warning re: dubious consent: This type of parallel universe travel means travelling consciousness not bodies. H & D kiss a few times in other universes. It is in a context that they normally would in that particular universe, however, they do not know they are not kissing their version of the person. They do not have sex under those circumstances.


End file.
